The Phoenix Hope
by HyacinthMacaw
Summary: My post NWN2 epilogue. Just when Knight Captain Lianna thinks some peace and quiet is in order, she and her friends find that some of the hardest battles come during peace. New: Ch 24, 'Heart of Darkness'. Feedback is always appreciated!
1. Rashemen Holiday

"**The phoenix hope,**

**can wing her way through the desert skies,**

**and still defying fortune's spite;**

**revive from ashes and rise."**

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

_Elasias 20, 1386 DR, the Twenty-Seventh Year of Nasher's Protectorate_

_** Lianna **  
_

Standing on the wall at Crossroads Keep, I sometimes thought that nighttime was often the hardest to bear right now for the memories. Ten months after the final battle, it was true that the darkness hid the last of the damage that Veedle's workmen hadn't quite managed to repair. But at least in the day the bustle of people moving to and fro about their business, the sounds of them, seemed to chase away the memory with the vitality of the castle's residents.

Here under the stars, the quiet of everyone gone to their beds was suddenly all too reminiscent of that last night, the unearthly stillness drawing out further and longer until the fear it tried to cause became an enemy to battle just the same as the undead. Even months later, memory tried to prowl in like lions to the kill. And with that, close behind came the thoughts of what I might have done differently given the choice.

"You don't sleep easy these nights," the voice came behind me, the soft words shattering the stillness. "And I don't mean for Marrin's sake."

"You don't rest well yourself," I returned, feeling the cool pitted roughness of the stone wall beneath my hands. "It isn't an easy thing to forget."

Casavir sighed quietly, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Nor honestly should we seek to forget. And yet…"

I shook my head miserably, looking out at the stars, taking a peculiar comfort in their bright light. Gazing on them shining in their distant vigil in the gods' heavens, I could find it so easy to believe that the world was so very large, and that surely I with my problems must be so very small. It somehow made it more bearable. "Perhaps if we'd been here all along it would be better. But the whole time we were away, it was just the focus of surviving the newest trials and getting back home; I couldn't even touch on what happened here. And seeing this place again brought it all back."

The portal in the Vale of Merdelain that we had frantically leapt into after defeating the King of Shadows, barely escaping the stones crashing down, had spit us out in Rashemen, far and away in the east. It had also separated all of us, and I had woken alone and terrified in Mulsantir, bleeding heavily from the chest where my extra-planar journey had apparently wrenched free the last silver shard I'd carried there since I was a child. I'd remembered virtually nothing of my true self, feeling only a strange, dark soul-hunger for a part of me now missing.

As an outlander, I often met with suspicion and outright hostility from the native Rashemi. I could understand it; from what I had read, Rashemen stood fast as a bulwark against the corrupt power of Thay despite the small numbers of its people, and a constant siege mentality tended to make a nation almost overly vigilant. I was just grateful that several new companions saw my distress, chose to befriend me, and shared my path. I couldn't have done it alone.

Of those who had known me, only Falyris had been by my side, and I knew now how much of myself had been spirit-lost at the time that even my bonded eagle companion, one of my oldest and truest friends, had stirred almost nothing in me. Still, she stayed with me while we journeyed through the worst of winter, though I could only imagine how miserable she had been that her mind-speech had met with little reaction from me.

My new Rashemi companions clearly noticed her faithfulness. Most of their people nominally worshipped a few of the gods of Faerûn, but primarily their religion was one of shaman-spirits. They believed that one of the guardian animals chose a child at birth to claim them as their own. My fellow ranger, Minsc, cheerfully told me that Falyris was a sign of my totem, and that I was a sister of Luar, the eagle. Apparently his own hamster companion Boo wasn't any kind of totemic sign, as he was a brother of Deil, the wolf.

The amulet I wore around my neck and my leaf-and-star tattoos also made them embrace me, as they signified I worshipped one of the Three who were revered in Rashemen: Mystra, Chauntea, and Mielikki.

A ranger, a servant of Mielikki, from the Sword Coast by my accent, the bonded companion of Falyris the eagle, and a sister of Luar; a few bare facts to outline my life. Of memory, love and hate, friendship and enemies, I had nothing.

Five months later, with the help of a _hathar _and her quests to us in both the physical and spiritual planes, I was restored to myself. And so I woke in Ylrana's home, realizing what had happened, and grieving to not know the fate of any of my friends who had still been standing by me at the end.

Zhjaeve and Ammon had already fallen bravely during the final battle. Zhjaeve hadn't followed our faith, and ruthless old Ammon couldn't fully redeem what he had done, but they had both given their lives to hold back the shadow, so I hoped the gods looked lightly upon them for it. Qara was dead by our hands after defecting to join Garius, and I could find little in me that was sorry for it: she had always been a trial for me at best, though I had been equally loath to inflict her on Duncan. At least her destructive abilities had been useful for me, but she'd been a completely inept and bitchy bar-maid.

And Bishop…I had let him live and run after his confused, strange confessions of a twisted, almost obsessive feeling for me, and that my choosing Casavir all those months ago had sent him over the edge. I reacted with a touch of pity for an obviously broken creature, I would admit, but more a cold anger-fueled determination to not grant him the death he obviously wanted as a release after he had deliberately betrayed and undermined us for the best part of a year. I condemned him to live, and to be as he was before: faithless, forlorn, and forsaken. Now in addition he could torment himself in the knowledge that he had destroyed probably the best chance he'd ever have for something more, that he'd knowingly rejected a circle of friends who would stand by his side no matter what given the opportunity.

As for those I believed still lived, I set out to find them. One by one I found my friends, scattered throughout that distant land of the Unapproachable East like beads from a broken necklace, and our meetings were always full of both laughter and tears. Khelgar, Neeshka, Elanee, Grobnar, and Sand…as much as I had been spirit-healed by Ylrana, each time I found one of them, I felt like another piece of me was finally restored.

Khelgar and I happened across each other a mere week after I began my search, just outside of the village of Alashei. He'd been looking for the rest of us as well, though he'd had a few adventures himself along the way. He clucked and fretted to me over the sheer eagerness of Rashemi men to test their battle mettle against the unusual opponent of a dwarf, and a studied monk capable of fierce empty-handed combat. Strange culture, he thought, where people thought that cracking heads together was the way to prove their abilities. He'd cleaned their clocks well enough, though, at every turn. I caught the twinkle in his eye as he said it. I tried not to burst out laughing, nodding gravely and agreeing that truly, many people were too impetuous.

Neeshka had been hiding out in Mulsantir, not far from where I had woken up. I didn't blame her: a tiefling might have caused some trouble, though most people wouldn't even know her heritage—they would only see her differences. At least in this cold land and with the time of year, she could remain hooded and cloaked and be seen as merely a shadowy, unknown lady. I thought she had actually come to enjoy playing that mysterious role in time; it appealed to her flair for the dramatic to go into a shop or tavern and cause its patrons wild imaginings about who and what lay beneath the disguise. And she confided to me with a mischievous grin that for a skilled rogue, Mulsantir had been easy pickings when she nipped into the houses of the spoiled and rich. I'd shaken my head and encouraged her to donate some of her treasure to the poor. She admitted she'd already done it, stammering something about cute kids; maybe my ideals had rubbed off more than she'd like to admit.

We found Elanee in the Ashenwood, living in the unspoiled nature of Rashemen and communing with its wild spirits. I honestly thought that such a place filled her with such an unadulterated pleasure after the poisoning of the Mere that she lost herself in the glory of it, almost forgetting about us. I couldn't fault her for it. We had all sacrificed things we had held dear, and what joy we could find was to be grasped with a whole heart. Besides, as an elf, she would have had a difficult time in the almost exclusively human Rashemi society, as other races were a curiosity at best, a suspicion at worst.

Sand had been in Immilmar, obviously fascinated by the ruling magocracy of Rashemen there—of course it appealed to his extremely academic and spellcaster's nature. It was too bad that he had to keep his status as a wizard under wraps, since all _vremyonni_ were made to serve the ruling _hathari_. He caused enough curiosity already simply by being an elf, and so he kept mostly out of sight when he could. His old skills of making himself quietly beneath notice from the Docks served him again in good stead. He had been pleased enough with some things he'd managed to learn on the sly about Rashemi magic, though.

Grobnar, sweet and absent-minded as ever, actually _had_ forgotten about us, immersed eagerly in the deep lore and skills of the nomadic Rumantsch he was traveling with. He equally fascinated them, with his bardic skills and by simple fact of his being a gnome. As soon as he saw us trading with his new friends, though, he hopped out of the brightly painted wagon leading the caravan and rushed to greet us with his usual guileless cheer, asking where we were bound next. He left the tribe of tinkers and horse-masters with a merry wave and promising to send them a copy of his forthcoming master work on the Wendersnaven.

As overjoyed as I was to see all of them over the next two months, it was for the last reunion that each night I turned my face up to the cool starlight and prayed fervently to every merciful god in Faerûn, and now the wild-spirits of Rashemen whose realm I was in.

My companions, both the old and the new, had treated me gently on that matter and given me their unyielding support, as they understood in this case my final quest wasn't merely to find a friend. I sought my love, my soul's mate. And as months went on, there was another urgent reason that I needed to find Casavir.

After he had spoken to me here on the battlements, both of us remembering with such happiness the months we'd already passed together, I'd suggested that we go inside to give what time there was to each other. The reality of the situation came upon us rapidly, and we had spent those last few hours before the siege together in my quarters awash in a tide of the sorrow we had anticipated might come in the morning. Trying desperately to keep it at bay with the fierceness of our feeling, even now I remembered that night with an almost sorrowful ache. The two of us made love with mingled joy and despair and the absolute abandon of those who could only pray that the next sunset would see us still alive.

The gods smile strangely on us sometimes. Lathander must have reveled in taking hold of that bittersweet love and reshaping it from our nearly despondent farewells at the end of things into a delightful promise of the future. In the middle of winter, I'd become aware that I was with child, though I felt little other than a detached bewilderment. It was a mystery until Ylrana had helped me regain myself. With that, the knowledge came flooding back, every memory I'd made with him from our first meeting in the Sword Mountains right up until he followed me through the portal in the Vale, and I knew with a deep certainty that this was the result of that last night.

I had been convinced Casavir was alive. My spirit, once it was restored to me, would have felt his loss. But I worried deeply that I might never find him, and I had many dark dreams at night of him faithfully searching for me the rest of his days, since I knew he wouldn't love another so long as he thought me alive. Nor could I take another into my heart either in that case. Now to that I added the pain of his possibly never knowing that he was to be a father.

Seven months after defeating the shadow-king, and after two months spent searching for my friends, we had worked our way from Mulsantir in the south all the way to Mulptan in the north. With a few questions and a few gold coins, I heard about a tall, dark foreigner, a warrior. The man had arrived in the city a little more than a fortnight past. They took notice, as he had already done some good turns with his sword for the locals in between asking his questions.

They referred to him also as a "brother of Okku", a Rashemi term for their bravest fighters, as many of those claimed the bear-spirit as their totem. With their warrior's ways, they approved heartily of how this man lost himself in a fight and proved his skills, although they found it passing strange that though spirit-fire shone bright in his eyes he didn't give himself over to a good healthy rage. They chalked it up to the soft gods-loving ways of the west. But yes, they agreed with a meaningful glance at my belly, the man's relentless focus wasn't fighting or even good deeds, but seeking one who met my description.

That evening, we'd been sitting in the taproom of the Grinning Rat as I fiercely questioned the patrons for what they knew, and finding myself glad that the baby gave me an excuse to turn away an offer of the clear Rashemi liquor known as _askarit_.By the smell of it, I thought it would be better used to clean armor than to drink. Drumming my fingertips on the battered heartwood tabletop made sticky with old _askarit_, fire-wine, and _piiva_, I tried to make a plan of how best to search. The child was kicking up a storm, and unfortunately that would mean that if she—I somehow always thought of it as a girl—kept it up, I might be racing for the privy in short order.

"Lianna?" I barely heard my name, half a gasp of surprise, coming from behind me. But the voice…I'd have known its sound in anywhere in all the realms.

Minsc, in his self-assumed role as my protector, turned and growled while reaching for his longsword, "The lady is not to be bothered. If you don't shove off, you will taste _hamster justice_!"

Normally I might have had a clever remark to make about the thought of visiting Boo's "hamster justice" on a man who actually _served_ the god of justice, but words failed me at the moment.

"Minsc, it's all right," I said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "This is my husband."

"I saw Falyris outsi—" Casavir began as I turned towards him. The words died in his throat as his eyes landed somewhere rather below my face, then abruptly shot back up to meet mine, blue and entirely startled. Whatever he had been expecting from this reunion, obviously it hadn't been a baby. "Lia…?"

I too looked at him with some surprise. Blue eyes weren't unknown in these lands, and he had hair as black as theirs. If not for his fairer skin and the fact that he towered at least half a foot above the average Rashemi man, he would have passed for one of them by now. I'd seen him look somewhat disheveled on the trail. But now, with his height and strength, dressed in leathers and furs over his old chainmail, his wavy dark hair grown out and pulled back into a short queue, a fair bit of facial hair…he looked almost as ursine as the former owner of the claw he wore as an amulet. From that, I knew they hadn't been speaking obliquely when they called him a brother of Okku: they had meant he claimed the bear as his totem.

Another thing was different, and I realized after a few moments what the problem was. I couldn't feel his aura, and he was a mere five feet from me. Startled, I wondered what had happened to him, until I remembered where we were. Rashemen was brimming with wild mages, and the few arcane spellcasters of the _hathari_ and _vremyonni_. But divine magic was virtually unknown. The clan-based, shamanistic society had little use for the general Faerûnian pantheon. I was almost sure the native tongues probably didn't even have a word for "paladin". The gods of the far-west held little power in these lands, and so divine mages in Rashemen were pretty much reduced to mundanes for the duration of their stay.

I noticed also a Rashemi girl of about sixteen, slender and dark, stood by his side, obviously traveling as his companion. I looked at her in some bewilderment. "This is Dasha," he said helplessly, gesturing slightly to her as he stared at me.

I'd deal with the girl and whatever she signified later; for now more important things were on my mind. "Casavir…I…" I could hear the strain in my voice, the tremor of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. A taproom was no place for us to have this discussion. "Please, will you excuse us?" I said to our table, and barely waited for them to acknowledge it before I was on my feet hurrying upstairs towards my room, hearing Casavir close on my heels.

I had barely closed and locked the door behind us when he pulled me into his embrace. As he hugged me even with the awkward bulge of the baby, I put my arms around him and we clung helplessly to each other. We kissed then, and the desperation of it almost matched those final hours at Crossroads Keep. No farewell this time, rather the ferocity of two survivors who could barely believe they had come through alive, and needed to lose themselves in each other in sheer thanks-giving. Several minutes later, I didn't know if the dampness on my cheek was my tears or his—did it really matter, when we were one?

Finally we sat down on my bed, and I found myself unable to let go of even the simple touch of hands after so long. "You see there'll be three of us soon," I whispered, drinking in the sight of him, my heart singing for joy.

"Yes, of course, but," he searched for the right words, "_how_ did this happen?"

I laughed; it seemed such an overwhelmed, so very maleresponse for him to have. "Neither of us may have much experience to draw on, but surely by now you must have the idea. You _were_ there for it, as I recall."

I could see that he was blushing. Some things never change. "Certainly I was there. I just never imagined…"

"Neither of us could," I said, shaking my head. "We didn't dare think of anything beyond the next battle."

He glanced at me almost shyly, and hesitated as if waiting for permission. Sensing his question, I took his hand in mine and placed it on the swell of my belly. "Wait a moment for it," I said. "She's been up a bit." We sat a little while in peaceable silence, and she finally obliged by giving me a good thump. Having roused long enough to perform one last time for her father's benefit, she soon settled back down, content to have been the center of attention.

"Little warrior," he said with an expression of wonder and a slight grin. He sobered then, sighing deeply with a sound of regret. "_Annwyl_, I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner. Believe me, it was impossible."

I shook my head, putting a hand to his cheek. "It wouldn't have done you much good, and I'm glad you weren't here." I saw the gleam of hurt come into his blue eyes and hurried to explain. "Cas…after I arrived here, I woke up in an alley down in Mulsantir and I was bleeding. The—the last shard was gone from me, and with it, my entire self. Up until two months ago, I knew nothing of my life aside from a few details gleaned from my trinkets and tattoos. It took new friends to care enough—you saw them downstairs—to lead me to a _hathar _to begin the quests to recover my spirit."

"Lianna…" His voice was soft, as he placed a gentle hand over the old shard-scar across my ribs as if all these months later, and no matter that Tyr couldn't help him, he would somehow call down his divine healing to ease my pain.

"No, please. Let me finish. I even scorned Falyris' words, just because I was afraid and didn't recognize her. It would have been five months of me treating you with simple indifference because I wouldn't have known anything of what you mean to me."

"I still would have stood by you," he said in a raw near-whisper, holding my face between his large, battle-scarred hands while he looked into my eyes, "gone anywhere and paid any price to aid you. Your struggles should be mine as well."

I fell silent, not sure I could even find the words to describe how it had felt to be spirit-shattered. And yet, my voice low, I tried; he might have some idea. "Do you remember how your soul felt when you believed yourself a fallen paladin?"

He nodded, eyes glancing quickly to the paladin's ring on his right hand, the ring he had put aside those dark years thinking he had no right to wear it. "It was just emptiness within me, a sense of loss. I could barely think of it without pain. I tried not to."

"You lost a very deep part of your spirit for a few years by thinking it had been torn away. I lost _everything_ for those months. Would you have wanted me to see you in those days, if you had but known me before? You're only mortal, Casavir, and though you would have borne it with courage, I know that you'd have suffered from my reaction. And it would have scarred deep."

He sat in silence a few moments, absorbing that. By the softness in his expression, I saw that he understood and didn't judge me for it. "You are—all right now?"

"Better this night than I've been in the last seven months, my love. But yeah, after I completed the quests, Ylrana—the _hathar_—helped bind the pieces of my spirit back together." I leaned towards him, laying my head on his strong shoulder as I'd loved to do before. "And she can send us home. We're all together again; you were the last still missing."

"I thought I might have to look for years to find you," he admitted, his hand moving in small circles on my back, an idle, soothing caress. "I didn't even know if you had come to Rashemen as I did."

"You would have searched, though."

"I would have sought you for the rest of my life if need be. I told you," his voice deepening with sudden emotion, his gaze directly on mine, "nothing could stand between us, in this life or the next."

"I know." I let that stand; nothing more needed to be said. I cleared my throat, unsure of just how to proceed with this. "Please don't take this the wrong way. I trust you. But who in the _hells _is that girl downstairs?" I managed to lighten my tone. "And you're looking a proper Rashemi barbarian yourself of late."

He laughed then, the rich sound of it lifting my spirits as it always had. I'd missed his laughter so much. "The short answer is that the girl is Darilya Efimnov—also called Dasha, sister of Irla the winter leopard, and so forth. She's of the Chukthal tribe; coming into Mulptan, I imagine you glanced east by a little southeast and saw that it lies at the foot of the mountains?"

I nodded. "Trust me, I noticed." The Sunrise Mountains with their craggy heights and the harsh northern climate looked a bit more formidable than even the Sword Mountains.

"It seems the portal dumped us out far and wide—gods be thanked, it kept us all Rashemen at least, as I see you found the others. I woke up in a snowdrift high in the mountains getting nuzzled by a damn monstrous winter bear. It was probably just hungry, and I frightened him off without a fight—he was a bit puzzled trying to take a test chew on chainmail anyhow. But that wasn't a promising beginning. And when I saw it was night and tried to cast a darkvision spell, I found out," he shook his head with a rueful smile, "that Tyr has no power in these lands. I couldn't even manage basic craft like mage-light."

"I guessed as much. A god's strength comes from his followers, and Tyr has few here."

"Aye, though since I had no idea where I was as yet, I thought it was maybe a place of magical Silence, like in Duskwood. Anyhow, I've been in the mountains long enough to know it with being late in Marpenoth, it was winter already, particularly as cold as this land is. The passes were snowed over pretty thick, and I had no hope of getting down to the plains alive until they melted. With that, about all I could do was hope somebody was up there for me to shelter with through the season."

"I assume you found them."

"Took two days, but yes, and they probably wondered what sort of maniac was wandering the mountains that late in the season until I explained that it wasn't exactly my fault. They let me stay the night, and the elders spent most of it arguing over what to do with me. Small problem, you see; I'm sure you know Rashemi on the whole don't hold much love for outlanders. They're clannish as anything I've ever seen."

"I've noticed," I said with wry understatement.

"So, they were a little pissed off at the thought of a foreigner holing up with them for the long months of an entire winter. But they've got good, selfless hearts. The idea of leaving anyone short of a kin-slayer or a spirit-stealer to die alone in the mountains wasn't acceptable either. Ramis, the shamaness, finally had the bright idea that if I could prove myself as worthy a warrior as a Rashemi man, I would be acceptable to the spirits to be adopted as a Chukthal and live with them. That settled everybody's ruffled feathers." He grinned ruefully, shaking his head. "If nothing else she probably figured I'd be some entertainment."

"Good thing you're handy with a sword."

"Vladisar was fair fine himself. I won mostly by letting him tire himself out with rage attacks. Not the most elegant or impressive victory, but it served."

"Ah yes, 'Endurance is a warrior's most necessary attribute.' First lesson of the sword, I believe." He had hammered home the point to me that no matter a fighter's skill, even the best could be beaten by someone, even of slightly lesser prowess, who could just stay their feet longer without tiring. He trained ceaselessly himself to keep his stamina high. I wasn't surprised he'd seen that a barbarian was prone to exhausting himself quickly and bided his time in combat to win the advantage.

"Second lesson," he corrected, with a gleam of easy humor in his eyes, obviously recalling our training sessions. "If you remember, the first was 'Don't hold any weapon too dear; it's merely a tool.' But I think if I'd had a hundred Rashemi back at Old Owl Well, Logram would have been begging me for peace terms."

I took hold of the bear claw amulet at his throat, tracing the silver-filled runes etched into it. I looked up into his eyes, curious. "They took you in enough as a Rashemi for Okku to take interest, I see."

For a man as devoted to the gods as he was, I couldn't help but be a little surprised that he could accept other spirits laying claim to him. Somehow I couldn't see many of those I knew back home acknowledging these wild gods with any kind of grace.

He obviously understood what I was getting at. "I wonder what sort of fanatics you've run into in your years that you wonder at it. Even those dedicated to the service of a particular god do well to pay heed to the others. You've seen that, I think." He was right. I clearly remembered a whispered word, a prayer, or thanks-giving to different gods from him often enough: Tempus for battle-luck, Sune for the love between us, Mielikki for safe travel in the wilds, Tymora for good fortune, Ilmater for patience, and so forth. His nightly prayers were always to Tyr as his station demanded, but he always spared time and thought for the other deities. "It's just the same here. Only a fool would mock another's true faith by dismissing it as superstition. Particularly so when these spirits walk the earth for mortals to see as our gods do. Tyr can't aid me, so if Okku chooses to favor me while I'm in his realm, then I'm honored by it."

"True enough." I sat back, releasing the amulet. "So, you fought your way in. Go on, then, let's hear the rest."

"Of course I told them that while I was glad of their friendship, as soon as spring came I had to come find you. I had to believe you were all right." I smiled, trying to encourage him. It must have been a hard winter for him, to not know anything of my fate. I had feared for him for only the two months I had been myself again. It had been fully seven months of anguish for him.

"Still in one piece, as you see." He went on, telling me of his winter among the Chukthal, and from his tone, it was obvious that aside from his constant worry about me, he had found it no hardship to dwell among them. I should have figured he would have found his feet quickly in Rashemen. He might have lived in Neverwinter for years and gotten some of its polish, but at heart, he wasn't one of them. I'd come to realize that with how deeply he questioned his duty when measured against the vicious politics, corruption, and heartlessness that ran so thick in cities.

The veneer of sophistication and noble speech didn't fully cover that at his core he was still one of the iron-born, the stark Iluskan influence clearly mixed into the more common Tethyrian of the Sword Coast. He was always far more pleased to be a man of action than words. And from what I had seen of the northlands that had been the home of his ancestors, living in a harsh and unforgiving land shaped the people of the Iron Shore and the Rashemi much the same: they both had tough, proud, straightforward, very insular ways, and prized a warrior's battle-prowess, honor, and valor above most anything else.

"The passes finally cleared a little less than a month ago. I bid them farewell, but Dasha said she was coming with me. The youths of this land go on a journey of at least a year to see the world before they can be initiated as adults—the _dajemna_. She said it was time for her to go out on hers, and she might as well help me search for you and do a good turn."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You don't think _you _had something to do with it?" He gave me a questioning look. "Come now, Casavir. An exotic foreigner comes into a quiet mountain village, and he's handsome and charming—no false modesty now, you well know that you're attractive—and he's also a fine warrior. If you were a sixteen-year-old girl, you'd probably be a little in love yourself and jump at the chance to travel with him."

He smiled sheepishly. "Please don't concern yourself. You have no cause, believe me."

"I trust you," I reassured him. Even if presently I wasn't exactly the lissome young warrior he'd wedded—I freely admitted I was developing a distinct waddle due to my new bulk—I didn't have worries about him jumping into anyone else's bed.

"Do I need to…ah…speak with her?" He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"It's probably just an innocent crush. There's no need to embarrass the poor girl by bringing it up." I also remembered the last time he'd tried to dissuade an infatuation, and left poor Katriona pining after him; men often weren't exactly deft at handling that situation. "Now, if you've found her in your bedroll of a night, that's another matter."

"No," he muttered. "But I imagine if she sees that my heart's yours alone, and inevitably when she meets one who can actually give her what she seeks, it'll resolve itself."

"You think she means to come back all the way to the _Sword Coast _with us?"

He shrugged. "I admit I haven't broached the subject. I didn't expect to find you so quickly as this, though of course I'm glad of it. Her period of _dajemna_ officially ends next Tarsakh, although some stay adventuring longer. Shall I encourage her to part ways with us?"

"No, although I don't how much adventure we'll give her. After all, we have the child to think about."

"Well, just going to the far-west is adventure enough for a Rashemi as so few have been there. I'm more than happy to think about some peace myself, believe me. Gods know that between my roaming the Coast, the orcs, and getting caught up with the shard business, I haven't had any in over six years."

"Make the offer, at least. But yes, please…let's go home."

I went to sleep that night easily with his arm around me, his hand resting lightly on my belly as he held both me and our baby. In the morning, we made for Ylrana's home. I parted from my Rashemi friends at that point as they chose to stay in their native land, with promises that they would always be welcome at Crossroads Keep should they choose to journey west. Dasha, with youthful exuberance and her idolizing Casavir, of course insisted on coming along, which I could only smile at.

The _hathar_'s portal magic kicked us out in Applefield, a few hours from Neverwinter, in the early evening. The locals must have been scared shitless to see a rugged looking bunch of barbaric-looking strangers wandering into their village. A few diplomatic words from Casavir, and the feeling of his suddenly-renewed aura, reassured them despite his shaggy appearance: people were always going to trust a paladin.

They were happy enough to let us stay the night after that, though they did ask Casavir if he could see to a young man come down with green-fever. I sensed his silent sigh of relief when it became obvious that Tyr had indeed noticed his return, and his magic answered his call immediately with the incantation to cure disease.

Dasha let out a hiss of surprise to see the divine light suddenly around his hands. "You didn't tell us you were a _vremyon _besides!" She sounded insulted.

"I beg your pardon, dear girl," Sand said briskly, obviously affronted that his skills should be compared to the admittedly lesser mage-powers of a man who relied more on a sword than spells. "He's certainly no wizard."

"I'll explain it later," Casavir said idly over his shoulder.

We stayed in the Blue Boar tavern that night, taking the opportunity to clean up before we'd inevitably have to go see Nasher tomorrow. I cut Casavir's hair myself, noticing that a few strands of grey had crept in amongst the raven black. He wouldn't even be thirty till Marpenoth, but gods willing, we'd be together long enough for there to be many more grey hairs for him in years to come.

He was ready to shave as well until I convinced him to just trim the beard and mustache, telling him that I liked the distinguished look they gave his angular features. I'd come to also secretly enjoy the feel of them against my skin as he kissed me, though I didn't say as such. He'd smiled and agreed to humor me. And so the paladin of Tyr re-emerged from the Rashemi barbarian, though I noticed he continued to wear the Okku amulet the Chukthal had gifted to him.

We went to the Flagon first in the morning, and Duncan was overjoyed to see all of us, his brogue gone thick enough with emotion to be almost incomprehensible. He told me that they had found my cloak in the Vale, and Nasher had been all too happy to declare me probably fallen in battle.

"I'll enjoy disappointing him by showing up alive," I said cheerfully. "I know from the last hero of Neverwinter that he prefers 'em out of his way."

He also told me that Daeghun had been searching for me ceaselessly. My throat tightened to think of my father mourning me. He had never been a man of easy words, but that action spoke louder than any statement of affection ever might have. I'd hoped to see him soon.

Nasher had been gracious enough, congratulating us on the defense of the Keep and our successful fight against the King of Shadows. Unspoken was the admission that with his own failure on the battlefield, it had been only me and mine who had saved his ass from having the entire land overtaken. I knew in years to come I had him where I wanted him with the sway that bought, and I would quite happily spend it to make him and his politics stay away of the running of my keep.

He apparently decided that some further reward was in order, so I found myself a reluctantly dubbed lady. As he was already a fellow knight and since he was also my husband, Casavir found a lordship thrust upon him. All to the good, I tried to convince myself, since as a member of the highest echelons of the nobility I had more rights to oversee my lands and my people as I saw fit without needing Nasher's say-so. After listening to my companions attempt unsuccessfully to refuse Nasher's generosity towards them, we'd been happy enough to set out for Crossroads Keep later that afternoon.

Our arrival there had been joyful. Even Kana and Nevalle had managed to smile before launching into reports of how they'd capably overseen the keep for seven months. Bevil had hugged me tightly enough to almost crack ribs then gasped in apology as he thought about the baby. Katriona had greeted us and I'd been expecting a trace of sadness when she saw that Casavir and I were now tied together by a thing even deeper than romance. But she gave sincere congratulations, and surprised me when I saw her slip her hand into Bevil's as he put his arm around her. So that was the way of things, and both Casavir and I were smiling to see it.

Our companions, though eternally bound to us by friendship and love, soon went to tend to their own affairs, with a promise to rejoin us at Yule. And so a fellowship tested and proved true through battle, betrayal, and loss was finally ended. I remembered the refrain to an old Harborman's ditty as I watched them make their way from the castle walls. _Storms we did weather, giving each other shelter; battles we fought together, now bound as friends forever._

Rebuilding the castle went on, and Casavir and I gingerly tried to settle into our places as peacetime Lord and Lady of Crossroads Keep. Our daughter Marrin was eager to see the world and arrived a few weeks earlier than anticipated, in the first days of Flamerule. It was entirely fitting, when I thought about it, that her fire for life should burn so brightly when I remembered the fierce circumstances under which she was conceived.

Running a keep in a time of war with its fierce and immediate demands was difficult enough. To rule in peacetime and attend to the never-ending small needs was almost harder. Casavir seemed to recognize that I struggled with not wanting to beat my head against a wall at attempting to adjudicate the likes of a dispute over a pig by two local farmers, and tried his best to pick up the threads.

The two of us were also trying to adjust to new ways around each other: not only to the trials and joys of our new daughter, now six weeks old, but also to the fact that ours had been a battle-born romance. Everything had been easier when we lived by the sword. We fought each day for our survival, relying on each other, loving with the knowledge that there might not be a tomorrow.

"It was so much simpler when it was just you and I under that linden tree," I said softly into the darkness, giving voice to the thought I had hardly dared speak before.

He sighed quietly. "So it was. Everything is simpler with battle to temper it." He wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me. As he nuzzled the back of my neck, I closed my eyes at the faint, pleasant tickle of his whiskers against my skin. "But the rise of shadow could not defeat us, my lady. Seven months without any knowledge of whether we might ever be together again didn't do it either. After enduring so much, this can't beat us down."

"I know you would have died for me," I said, turning to him.

"I'd have done it without hesitation. You heard me say so." He smiled at me in the starlight. "I admit I'm glad it's a price I didn't have to pay."

"Will you now live for me instead? That might almost be more difficult." His answer was to kiss me again on that wall, as passionate and sincere as he had been that night.

"Of course; we'll endure whatever comes," his voice fierce. "You know we will."

I believed the conviction in his words. I could only think it was a good thing he had said that come what may we'd still make it together, when early the next afternoon, one of my Greycloaks found me and stammered out that Bishop had returned to Crossroads Keep.


	2. Unforgiven

_**Casavir**_

When I had told Lianna the night before that everything seemed simpler with the fire of battle to burn away trivialities and doubts, I had well meant it. I was only realizing the full truth of it now. As much as I'd thought in Rashemen that some years of quiet life would be very pleasant, settling down wasn't as easy as I had thought it might be.

Of course, I couldn't rightly complain too much about it: Tyr had blessed me more than most young paladins could ever dream. It looked like I had survived my fighting days. I'd found love and married, another rarity among our ranks. I had found Lianna again after we'd been flung halfway across the world and separated. And gods willing, now I could believe I'd be able to see my daughter grow up. I had never expected to make it this far.

Coming to love Lianna surprised me, as certain as I was that my life was bound to be swift and short. That, with the natural struggles with love and duty that a paladin always felt and my reservations from my naïve mistakes with Ophala, made my resolve to not thrust my burdens upon another run deep. But she claimed my heart anyway, and I gave it willingly, not even knowing how she must feel about me in return for long months where I was bound to silence. When we spoke under Tyr's linden in the Neverwinter Wood and I finally held her in my arms, I hoped that ours was a love that would somehow be lasting. For those short months, even amidst the darkness of what we faced, I found a delight and peace beyond measure.

I never had confessed to her that when I had told Black Garius that I would willingly die for her, I believed I would. I considered my words to be a bargain struck between myself and Tyr. My life, freely given to shield hers, to let her finish what she had begun, and to see the woman I loved remain safe; well worth it, and every moment, every movement, I was convinced would surely be my last.

Since I had taken my vows, I had fully expected to sacrifice myself in battle; if not at Old Owl Well as I had so fervently sought, then surely in the fight against shadow.

Paladins weren't all the same in nature and outlook, though we all devoted ourselves to our gods with a wholehearted intensity. Not that you couldn't find a true fighting paladin of Deneir, and I well respected the few I had met. But serving the god of literature would be more likely to send a paladin chasing after the lost Ilefarn library of Aksandere than to fling themselves headlong into battle against raiders threatening a village.

Tyr, Torm, Helm, and Ilmater: they were perhaps the most powerful gods to serve as a paladin, gods with noble ideals worth fighting for. They well knew it and favored their servants with an open hand: when Tyr's glory came upon me in battle it was a divine rapture surpassed only by the very mortal one I had found in Lianna's arms. But the gifts of a true warrior's god came with a price. Their paladins were traditionally the first to answer a call to arms…and consequently, first to fall. The lore of those orders contained in its dusty pages the records of precious few paladins who had died in bed at a comfortable old age.

Those the gods love best, Fenthick had once told me, they might choose to call swiftly home. And ours was a dangerous existence; we were the hope to always be relied upon in a desperate hour. No matter the odds of survival, let alone victory, it was a Tyrran paladin's sworn duty to serve as a sword and shield to the people of their land without question or hesitation. It wasn't surprising that the sagas and ballads of the taverns often regarded a paladin's supreme sacrifice, all very romantic in the retelling, with little heed for the reality of blood and anguish.

Six years and more gone, back before I'd left Neverwinter's service, I'd often spent an evening amongst other young paladins. None of us had any illusions whatsoever that our life was to be anything but harsh, austere, and almost inevitably violently short.

In truth, those who saw us in the taverns then would say we were the warriors of a short, beautiful summer, caught then at the height of youth and strength. One with oracle's sight might have seen the shadow of Kelemvor already fallen over some of us. We were almost certainly bound one by one to fall like dried autumn leaves tumbled in the wind, for the protection of our people and the glory of our god. That was our fate.

But sitting there with camaraderie and a good mug of autumn ale, we could joke about it. We were painfully young, with the irreverence that passes for wit in youth, and the reckless courage of naïveté. And so we jested that the only paladins who lived long enough to see grey hair and grandchildren to dandle on their knees were maybe beloved of Tymora, but they must have shirked from the fight to get there, so their patron deity was not pleased. It was not to mock the god of death or those fortunate few who were our elders, but to defy our own grim knowledge.

Probably only a handful in a hundred paladins in the militaristic orders of Tyr lived to see their thirtieth birthday. It seemed I would be one of them, as that milestone came upon me in just a few months. The thought still surprised me. At least with my actions of the last years, I could stand with clear conscience and say that I hadn't survived through cowardice and shying from battle. That I lived was obviously Tyr's will…in more ways than one.

I also hadn't told her of what I had heard in the blackness, of that place _between_ worlds after leaving the Vale. Perhaps it was a strange effect of hopping from plane to plane, and passing out of the realm and reach of the divines I had served most of my life. Some things are not meant for mortal ears but for the times the gods choose to speak. But in the void after the portal in the Vale and before waking up on a Rashemi mountainside, the words of the divines had come upon me…speaking of me.

_Well then, do you give him to me, Justiciar?_ The voice was grim, devoid of any flicker of emotion, and it carried a soul-deep chill. It could only be Kelemvor, god of the dead.

_Do you claim the soul of his wife, then, to make good his offer?_ I recognized the deep, resonant tones from visions and dreams I'd had since I was eight years old, a voice that could be both merciful and condemning, but never unjust. Tyr's voice was well known to me, and I wondered what he could be about, though I knew that the matters of the gods were something I shouldn't eavesdrop upon, even if it was not by my will.

_I do not. She lives still_. _But he wishes to protect her, and he did not say that his offer of sacrifice ended with victory. So I could honor my guarantee of the full span of her mortal years, if his own are the cost._

_Come now, have you not harvested enough brave warriors in these last seasons, Deathlord? He has fought and proven his strength to survive time and again. My own champion chose well in him. He has done me some good turns in his days when he wandered the wilds. Evil men will always corrupt creatures into twisted, unnatural things to serve their ends, and he always pitied them as he gave end to their torment. He is human and so his years will be short: nature will see you come for him swiftly enough without the need of meddling._ The woman who chimed in spoke low and husky, and I recognized a voice of a half-elven ranger I had met one night in Kryptgarden Forest while on my way to the Sword Mountains. She had shared my fire a few hours against the chill air, and we spoke. I admitted more to her than I had to anyone in three years, desperate to confess my thoughts and troubles to someone. Confession to my fellow paladins as was our way at that point was not an option, and I had figured I would never see the woman again, so it seemed safe.

Her words to me had been somewhat cryptic, though I thought again on them later after meeting Lianna. But that night, to a man seeking solitude and death, I hadn't wanted to consider her advice too closely just then. Gods, at least I had treated her with courtesy and kindness: angering Mielikki, the goddess of the wilds and of rangers— and Lianna's patron—would have been to my definite peril.

_A span of seasons ago he was ready to embrace death, Kelemvor, but now he has strings on his soul, see how tight they're tied? To his love, and…oh, there's another. His words were a most noble gesture, and for one so fair…there's no need to be so heartless._ Higher and more melodic than Mielikki's husky tones, Sune's praise for the love and passion she held most dear was a sweet song to charm the ears with its beauty. I briefly wondered what other she referred to, but that was quickly swept away by my attention being rapt on what appeared to be a debate over my fate.

_Never shied away from combat, _came a deep growl ringing like the clarion call of battle-trumpets, but strangely devoid of passion, _no matter the odds, and how he fights…were he not yours, Tyr, I'd wish to claim him. The Red Knight tells me that she favors him too, as he fights with his brains as well as his sword, and that's a rarity. Cunning and courage both: he's already given me much to be pleased with, and there will always be more battles. I, for one, would like to see him there for them._ So Tempus, lord of war, also stood for me.

_Oh, Sune, how ever do you and the Foehammer stand in accord? We well know you think war is such unspeakable ugliness, and this paladin's sword has rarely seen its sheath. Not a pretty little carpet-knight, this man. He has the blood of many on his hands, both those he killed and those he led to their deaths. _A pervading sense of sly mockery lacing his voice through and through as though the rest of the gods were a jest only he understood—it could only be Cyric, ruler of the dark evils in men's hearts: intrigue, lies, murder, and betrayal.

_He…he defended against much a greater ugliness of shadow and undeath_, Sune said defensively, faltering only a moment_. And he has such passion…_

_And compassion_, Mielikki added, _for those who have need of it_. _Have you an opinion of your own, Cyric, or are you just seeking to cause strife?_

_You fault me for merely performing my duties, little Forest Queen? I would have seen shadow fall across the whole of the Sword Coast. I __**gloried**__in the intrigues and falsehood of the ranger Bishop; he planned his betrayal for ages and the idiots had no clue until the final moment. Pity he's a Faithless, I'd be proud to have him as my own. As for the fate of this one…fauh. Paladins make me want to stab them. But he was on the razor's edge of falling in despair once: if he dies now, he dies righteous, and that's intolerable. I need more time to work corruption on him._

_Yes…he almost was shadow-lost in the mountains, almost given over to his emptiness. Loss and disillusionment have cut this one deeply. He is young still and for mortals, to live always will mean to know pain. His passion that you swoon over, Firehair, might well be the key to his undoing. And I too have designs I would not like prematurely unraveled by your stubbornness, dear Lord of Maggots._ Shar's voice was a soft hiss full of secrets and shadow, fitting for the matters of darkness, bitterness, and loss that she was queen over.

_What say you, Lady Magic?_ Tyr asked. _He does make use of the Weave._

_I have no opinion, Lord Tyr, _Mystra offered nonchalantly._ He is a warrior more than a spellcrafter. But he has been both mundane and mage, and affected the mortal planes as both. What use he has made of the Weave has been responsible. I see no reason to unduly strike him down, but neither does he hold special affection for me._

_He has won a new path at high cost. _Words gentle and his voice soft and youthful, Lathander still had a clear presence: fitting for a man who took a quiet renewal of dawn and its promise as his symbol. _To face the truth of the light when you have lived in hopeless shadow is no small thing. He has paid for his few mistakes a hundredfold. Let him enjoy what he's earned._

_He grows in wisdom by the season, and I for one rejoice to see prudence and caution in a young man. Far too many are foolish and flighty. He might achieve greatness through his words as well as his weapons, but Tyr has ever been his patron, and so the decision whether to accept the paladin's offering, either as it was worded or as it was intended, falls to him._ A brisk, resonant tone so like the temple tutors I had known in my boyhood, fully confident of his words and the wisdom that guided them: Oghma, lord of lore and knowledge.

_I hesitate to cut short a life with so much potential on a mere point of semantics, Lord Kelemvor. Much of law is in issues of simple interpretation of words._

_He too has served me in his turn; he gives fallen foes respect and fights against the horror of undeath. _Kelemvor's soft whisper still made me think of the quiet muffled echo of stone crypts, and had I presence of body at that moment a shiver would have run down my spine. _The bargain was offered, and it must be addressed so that it does not hang over his head to be manipulated against him by other forces: mine are the matters of death and so of life, Tyr. I ask you only that I may be certain of the nature of his fate and hers._

_Paladins are a coin a dozen, Eyeless One, _Cyric hissed with poison in his voice, _and you don't hesitate to let them sacrifice themselves in battle with your name on their lips. You've always been soft for him, ever since he was a boy. You should have let me teach him the meaning of his folly when he dared to challenge us those years ago. _

_But I did not then, Cyric, and I will not now. As Oghma has pointed out, he has gained a man's wisdom and a man's patience since then. And he has served me well, even when he believed himself fallen from grace; a better man and a better paladin too, since those days. And too, one of my paladins already has sacrificed her life for this woman. I am loath to let another do so._

_But Esmerelle Thirsk gave her life as a mother protecting her young, not as a paladin, _Mielikki pointed out.

_She protected an innocent from harm in the heat of battle at the cost of her own life. That's the act of a paladin as well as a mother. As for Casavir, there is much good he can do yet in the world, and though I well admire your ranger's dedication to goodness and justice, Mielikki, I am reluctant to let another paladin of mine give years to add to her own._

_I wouldn't ask it. This is not the way of the wilds. If he fell in battle to defend Lianna as her mother did that would be another thing. But to callously slay him from afar like this isn't the correct action._

_The events of the last years have shown his nature. He has come from the fire of his folly tempered and pure, a paladin instead of being still half-boy as he was. He would have given his life to assure hers so that the quest to defeat shadow might be completed. The willingness of his gesture is proof that he has a noble heart and unswerving loyalty to the task set before him no matter the cost. A man who will offer to die for something greater than himself and would still go to his end bravely is worth keeping in the world a while longer. He is a true paladin, Lord Tyr._ One last speaker offered his thoughts, a stern voice with a ringing edge to it like the clash of two swords, as unyielding as true loyalty: Torm, god of duty, and so also the lord of paladins. _Let the simple offer of sacrifice serve as ransom enough for his life._

_So I agree_, Tyr said with finality._ It seems that most of us believe he has purpose to fulfill yet for us. His flame has always burned brightly. I won't be the one to snuff it out before its time… _

That was the last I knew before I woke up freezing my ass off in a snowdrift with a winter bear's hot breath against my face as he gently took a test bite on my arm, snorting in bewilderment at the harsh grating of chainmail under his teeth instead of the yield of flesh. He probably though I was dead and an easy meal of carrion in the chill of mountain winter. My first instinct was to holler loud enough that he turned tail and fled to hopefully find better pickings.

The Sunrise Mountains surpassed even the Sword Mountains in harshness, though at least my year and a season of survival at high altitudes was useful. Picking myself gingerly up out of the snow, aching all over from both the battle and the falling rocks we had barely avoided, I winced when I was sure I had a few cracked ribs thanks to the King of Shadows. Finding out I was no more than a mundane wasn't a true hardship; I had lived three years in that state before.

My cry of anguish was reserved for my first sunrise in Rashemen when I saw the glow of dawn painting the mountains, and knew only the blank whiteness of a full covering of snow would reflect the colors in that way. I had huddled on the mountainside, gathering my autumn cloak around me and shivering with both cold and apprehension as I realized with a heavy heart that I was in the high mountains, winter had come, and that I was stuck until spring without an idea of how Lianna fared. She had been alive that the gods had spoke of her, and I refused to believe otherwise.

The Chukthal, once I proved my worth with the sword, welcomed me as their new adopted son to their hearths with wholehearted warmth. I fascinated them; so few had met any kind of foreigner. I gave up trying to explain the concept of my status as a paladin, since the concept of service to the gods and divine magic met with incomprehension the few times I tried. They asked the Rashemi spirits for strength or wisdom or courage, and the creatures of the wild were respected. Each totem was loosely associated with some personal qualities, but they didn't have actual formal duties as did the western gods. So while a reverent respect for the wild-spirits was emphasized, the idea of actual submission in organized worship puzzled them.

I remembered little of my actual initiation save an impression of fireglow and ululating chants. Ramis put me in a trance with some herb to help speak with the spirits, but I knew I had heard the voice of Okku as clearly as I had ever heard Tyr. Even the fact that Tyr claimed my soul hadn't stopped him from extending his protection to me so long as I traveled his realms, which I was grateful for. I admitted myself far more content to feel the touch of some kind of spirit; though I still made my nightly prayers to Tyr, the absence of the gods whose had faith guided me throughout my life had bothered me greatly.

I taught them what I could of my homeland, and they absorbed it eagerly. The suspicion of foreigners didn't preclude a burning curiosity once they had one to question. And when I told the story of how I had come to Rashemen around the fire one night, I quickly found myself urged to go further back. My tale of our adventures quickly became the highlight of many an evening, though a bard would have told it far better. A little after Yule, I finally came to Lianna and I marrying, and while I had told them I had a wife who I desperately loved and needed to find come spring, I wasn't sure they believed me. I depicted her truthfully as a brave warrior and the woman I loved fiercely, at which point the women sighed at the romanticism of it and the men rolled their eyes but admitted at least I had the sense to pick a woman with spirit—some things are universal no matter where you travel. I was relieved to have convinced them of the depth of my feelings for Lianna, since prior to that several of the young women had been giving me hopeful winks and smiles.

Dasha's older sister Tanyefa, thankfully madly in love with her husband Mishkael, explained it to me one night with the frankness the Chukthal had. "Of course they desire you. You may be pale-skinned, Eretisar," their name for me, "but that is exotic, and you're handsome. You're tall and strong compared to our men, and a brother of Okku. There is no doubt you're a warrior, and yet you speak so kindly to women. It fascinates them. So they imagine you'd make a gentle lover and are hoping that you might wish your furs kept warm of a cold night." She'd looked thoughtful a moment. "And perhaps they might have a child with your lovely eyes in the bargain."

Gods, as well used as I was to casual propositions of sexual favor due to the romantic image women had of my calling, it seemed I couldn't escape it even in places of the realms where they'd never even _heard _of a paladin. I'd sputtered, my cheeks burning with heat far beyond that of the fire we sat beside—all the while of course cursing my "exotic" fair skin that showed every trace of my embarrassment. When I could manage coherent speech, I told Tanye as politely as I could that while I was flattered by the ladies' attentions, there was only one woman who would ever bloody well warm my furs and she was somewhere down on the plains. "True to your mate," she'd said with a grin. "You have a touch of Luar in you as well, _neh_?"

Maybe it was a test from the gods of my faith and my faithfulness to stay true to my lady and my love for her without clear proof of her welfare; though if they saw me at all to know if I passed, it must have been only a distant glimpse. They need not have worried. The Rashemi women, charming as they were with their flashing dark eyes and golden skin, and their evident hot blood in a cold climate, held no allure for me. I dreamt at night of bygone days, waking in the grey gloom before dawn to the fading smell of forests and the leather of her armor, aching in both body and soul with the need for her.

But except for my worry for Lianna, it was not a hard winter. Once I settled in, I found them to be far from the loud, uncouth barbarians who "see gods in every rock" as many back home mocked. They were energetic, yes, and wore their emotions and temper easily. But they were deeply spiritual in their own fashion. Wanton slaughter was a taboo since it gave offense to the _inyua_, the eternal and constantly reincarnated soul they believed lay inside each animal as an earthly avatar of the great spirits of the totems, and to kill another human without cause was an affront the totem who claimed them. Brawling and high spirits were one thing, since bruises and broken bones healed. But they took war and the deaths and sacrifices it would cause very seriously; they didn't start battles without deep thought of justifications and consequences.

Their ideals of justice overall fascinated me. Execution was reserved only for soul-stealers and kin-slayers, the worst crimes imaginable to them. But they also resorted to blood vengeance only as an extreme rarity, since it inevitably led to long-standing clan feuds and many deaths. Instead, they used the _soltkrav_, what we had once called _wergild_ in the west when we had also been tribes instead of cities.

They had little use for actual money except in the midsummer trade gathering in the cities, so the payment offered was usually in goods, or often, it also incorporated a penance of service to the offended. It wasn't uncommon in the case of murder for the council of elders to sentence the killer to serve the kin of the slain for a time so that they might help compensate for the loss of the victim's efforts of labor, and for them also to see first-hand the effect their act had on the family. After the _soltkrav_ was fully paid, the offender was welcomed back into the tribe without rancor or further blame.

No fine, prison sentence, or threat of the gallows was half so effective to produce a reformed criminal. Justiciars back home could well learn a lesson from Rashemi justice.

I had been restless as spring approached, and surprisingly I received no teasing and no blame for leaving. They seemed to understand that I never had been meant to stay, and that my winter with them had touched both them and me. But I had other claims on me that superseded even these of newfound kin. Finally in Tarsakh the passes cleared, and Dasha surprised me by insisting by coming along. In truth, I was grateful for the idea of a friend and local to help smooth things over in my search; I might have been a man of the clans and dressed the part by then, but my experience was limited to the mountains. I had no idea what reception I'd get in the cities.

It took two tendays to reach Mulptan. I started my inquiries, doing a good turn here and there to help regain my old self and to help ease my way with the cityfolk. I quickly found that while nobody of the city had met her, there were enough rumors from travelers of a western outlander, who had traveled with a bizarre assortment of companions. I had barely held back a smile as I remembered the words "motley crew" being used to describe our own fellowship back home. A Rashemi ranger and a barbarian, a red wizardess of Thay, who the _yennisdrant _defended fiercely against the natural hostilities of the locals, and more odd outlanders: a dwarf, a gnome, two elves, a strange horned woman…my heart eased as I realized she must have found our other friends.

Dasha and I tarried in Mulptan almost another two tendays haunting the taverns and gathering as much information as possible while with each new account I pored over a map of the countryside in my room, trying to make sense of her path. She was working her way north from Mulsantir; that much was clear. But whether to wait and assume she'd come to me, or to say to the hells with patience and set out hoping to come across her that much earlier, that was the question.

It was resolved for me. The last I had heard was her being spotted near Raiyutin, to the southwest, less than a tenday before. I decided that I'd leave word in the taverns that if a western ranger with an eagle companion and an interesting assortment of friends asked after me, I was headed towards Raiyutin. Then I saw what I was sure was Falyris outside the Grinning Rat, perched on the iron bar of the sign and calling what, if I'd had my old ring for animal speech with me, I was sure would be insolent remarks. She'd always been a corker.

I could barely believe that my search was quite possibly over. Almost in a daze I'd gone in, and seen her sitting at a table with her back to me, recognizing the others there with her. She'd turned when I said her name, and my second shock of the night hit when I saw the very obvious swell of her belly. I realized quickly enough the way of it, but I'd never imagined that those last few hours before the siege had been anything more than a final, almost frenzied affirmation of love, and a probable farewell for my part. A child…the joy of it hit me immediately. The worry followed later.

That same dizzying swell of conflicting emotions only intensified once Marrin actually came into the world. Elanee had acted as midwife, a role she had done many a time for her fellow elves, but never for a human. I also secretly thought that she stayed those extra two months for the sake of Daeghun, who took a great comfort in her company. I stayed by Lianna's side throughout, doing what I could with my healing magic to ease her pain.

So much had changed in ten months. Lianna and I had both been through ordeal and found each other again, and found ourselves put into new roles on our return to Neverwinter: parents to our daughter, a quieter life of peace, and unfortunately, new members of Neverwinter's highest circle of nobility.

Even more unfortunately, that meant making a trip to Neverwinter in Uktar after harvest and tithing was completed, to give Nasher his due as lord of the region. We were also obliged to formally present Marrin to her sovereign. Not a trip I was looking forward to with great pleasure: dealing with Nasher's politics inevitably frustrated me, and I had run afoul of quite a few of the lords and ladies more than once in my time as a paladin with my strange, revolutionary ideas that they ought to have more charity and compassion.

They had also been upset that a fisherman's son from a northern backwater should be raised to stand as a knight. Pierval, as I recalled, was one who had been irritated at that. He was going to curse me blue to Beshaba now that I actually stood equal in rank to him, and had the joys of my wife and daughter besides. All in all, it sounded like a very jolly time was in the prospects. I almost wondered if there was another band of marauding orcs that urgently needed killing somewhere.

Dasha, after following us back home, had elected to stay at Crossroads Keep, although I had offered to help her journey further along the Sword Coast if she so wished. She'd never admit it, but I thought that she finally realized that when it came to her _dajemna,_ she'd jumped right in without bothering to check the depth of the water. That was the easy and naïve confidence of a teenager right there.

I understood well enough: so far from home and everything familiar, it was sinking in now. At least for now, she had no further wish to venture out amongst unknown people whose land and ways were still strange to her. So she stayed at the Keep, learning our ways eagerly.

When I was just turned sixteen, I had watched a good man pay for his simple foolishness with his life, swinging gently in the autumn breeze, slowly strangling from a botched hanging. I always secretly wondered if the executioner's mistakes in calculation had been deliberate to prolong Fenthick's suffering and greater appease the bloodlust of the cheering crowd. I learned the nature of the mob that day.

Ten months later, I had fought on the barricades when the Luskan army attacked the city, led by the woman who had been the nearest I had to family. I had killed my first enemy there as we fought with the desperation only those fighting for their homes have. Several friends of mine had burned on funeral pyres in the next days.

Two days before I turned seventeen, contemplating the vows I was to swear and events just gone by, I learned that in a tenday I was to serve as champion of Tyr's justice and either kill Aribeth for her crimes or die in the attempt.

Sixteen seemed it would be kinder to Dasha than to me. I could only hope that year, so far way right now, would also give Marrin sweetness instead of sorrow.

At least Dasha's affection for me was dealt with. As alluring as I was as a foreigner and fierce warrior, once she saw Sand's powers, she was even more smitten. She'd never met a _vremyon_, a male wizard, rare and cloistered as they were in the east, and he was also an elf with almost otherworldly grace and beauty. I couldn't hold a candle to that, much to my relief.

So I was happy enough to act as a teacher in the ways of the west, both of scholarly matters and combat. She had an astonishing mind-hunger to learn anything put her way, and she could regularly be found underfoot asking questions of anyone who'd listen.

As for today, I was content to put aside questions of adjusting to sudden peace, how to deal with an unwelcome lordship, and what to do with the years of life I'd never expected to have. After all, it was Marrin's naming day.

After a child had lived four tendays in the world, it was presented to the gods and formally named in their sight. For most, who respected all the gods more or less equally, that merely meant finding the nearest member of the clergy whose deity's outlook agreed with their own. Nobody of good character wanted their child's naming conducted by a cleric of Cyric, after all. I had my naming done by Isgraille, a priestess of Lathander who had served in Riverbirch Hollow in those days; Yakin and the words of Tyr replaced her when I was six. As a paladin, I was qualified to perform the rite in the absence of any priest or cleric, and had done so once, for a son born to a woman who, with her husband, fought alongside me in the Sword Mountains.

For those who had an actual patron deity, it simply meant that on their naming day, their son or daughter was blessed before the clergy of that god. So today Ivarr would give Marrin to Tyr's keeping on my behalf in the church here at Crossroads Keep. There was a sacred shrine to the Forest Queen less than a half day's travel away that we would journey to in a few days to also honor Mielikki by presenting Marrin as Lianna's daughter.

Khelgar and Neeshka had agreed to serve as Marrin's godsparents. It might have seemed a bit strange for a human child to have a shield dwarf and a tiefling for an auntie and uncle, perhaps, but they had been the truest friends to both of us. I couldn't have asked for better to stand beside us then or now.

Marrin was a fragile, slight weight in my arms, sleeping peacefully awash in a rainbow of color from the late afternoon sunlight through the stained glass window above the altar. Ivarr beamed down at her—we'd knelt, as it seemed silly for him to be shouting up at us.

Lianna and I made our own promises towards Marrin's upbringing in the ways of Tyr's grace, and then Ivarr turned his attention to Khelgar and Neeshka.

"Khelgar Ironfist, Neeshka Hassarin, you have been asked to serve as godsparents to this girl. Do you accept this honor, and swear to do your utmost to raise the child Marrin to serve the ways of goodness and law," I swore I almost heard Neeshka's tail suddenly twitching fretfully through the air at that last word, "and to show her the meaning of both justice and mercy in accordance with the teachings of Tyr?"

"Aye, I do," Khelgar said without hesitation in his low rumble. No worries for him; dwarves always were known to be law-abiding folk. With that natural inclination to order and his good, stalwart heart, following Tyr's ways and teachings as a monk had proved no trial to him.

Neeshka coughed nervously. "Er…yeah. Yes. I will." I couldn't hold back a smile myself; she was trying a new path now following her adoring love for mechanics and tinkering—specializing in the challenge of security, naturally—but old habits die hard. I had the feeling Auntie Neeshka would still enjoy teaching Marrin how to pick locks as she got older. Well, so long as no actual _crime _was committed, she'd still be in the clear.

The width of Ivarr's good-humored smile was visible even in the thick sun-gold growth of his beard. "Then blessed be your ties to this child, Khelgar and Neeshka."

Brushing a stray wisp of her fine dark hair off her forehead, he gave Marrin the kiss of peace there. She stirred in my arms, letting out an angry protest at the disturbance and barely missing Ivarr's nose with one tiny fist.

Ivarr laughed loudly at that as I settled her down. "She's a warrior from the start, it would seem." I thought the same, though it should have come as little surprise considering the embattled circumstances of the night under which she had come into being. "So be it. This daughter of the paladin Casavir Erelissohn shall be called Marrin, named this day into the grace and keeping of Tyr. Marrin, you shall always know the welcome of the Just One's temple, and may he bless your path for all your days."

A few words more and the rite was concluded, and I couldn't help but feel some relief to know that Marrin could claim Tyr's favor now. As I thanked Ivarr and we chatted a few minutes, Khelgar and Neeshka were murmuring lowly as they left the church to head back up to the Keep; he was probably reassuring her that she could indeed hold up her obligations to Tyr without becoming a complete stick-in-the-bog. Marrin, already restless, decided to voice her opinion of the matter and her low, snaffling whimpering quickly became more insistent and louder.

"Oh, curse it," Lianna said with a blush darkening her cheeks at the sudden dampness appearing on the front of her tunic in response to Marrin's cries. "She's hungry. No wonder, it's been a long day. Let me have her, Cas; I'll take her back home."

As I handed her over to Lianna, one of the younger Greycloaks came hurrying up to us. It was Corporal Siegel, with a shock of wheat-blond curls and a riot of freckles, and a wicked looking mace at his belt. "Sir, ma'am—oh Bane's shit, I mean, my lady—"

"Don't worry about the address," Lianna said with a sudden frown, idly letting the baby mouth at a knuckle to soothe her crying. The troops had as little familiarity or comfort with the new titles as we did. "What's the problem, Siegel?"

"Um." He cleared his throat with a raw-sounding noise. "Bishop's returned here."

"_What_?" We spoke more or less in unison. I thought I had misheard him: for it to be true would be impossible, unthinkable, complete bloody raving _insanity_. But he was no fool; surely he knew that in sparing his life in the Vale, Lianna had implied that if they ever crossed paths again, he wouldn't be half so fortunate. Then again, knowing Bishop, he might well enjoy taunting us like this as a colossal demonstration of his arrogant contempt. His betrayal had been equally theatric and ill-thought.

"You're certain it's him?" I spoke, even as I saw Lianna hurrying towards the figure surrounded by a knot of Greycloaks.

Abandoning Siegel, I rushed after her. The Greycloaks parted their ranks as we approached, and I got a good look at the man causing the commotion.

I'd been forced to travel with him for better than a year. I'd recognize Bishop almost anywhere. He looked much the same as when he'd fled Garius' side with a mocking laugh; same battered leathers, a scimitar on his belt, his duskwood longbow over his shoulder. I couldn't help but think I really should have made good on my threat to shove that thing up his ass.

"Lianna," Bishop spoke first, but she cut him off abruptly.

"Well, Bishop, your first mistake was deceiving and betraying me," Lianna said in a near-snarl, her eyes bright with fury.

His eyes flickered to her, lighted on Marrin held close to her chest and widened in surprise. I tensed at that, searching his face for his reaction to the news that Lianna had now borne my child, but he gave nothing away.

"Your second mistake is having the sheer _balls _to walk through this gate again after I spared your worthless life. It's the last one you'll ever make, trust me. Katriona, I want him in irons. We'll execute him in the morning."

Katriona stepped forward, ready to carry out the command. "Stand down, Katriona," I said, speaking with a confidence I barely felt. My former sergeant paused, turning to look at me with her grey eyes wide in confusion.

Lianna also wheeled to look at me, but her eyes bored holes into me. "What?"

"You can't execute him."

"The hells I can't! I'm the lady of this keep, and under _my_ authority I have the right to punish him for crimes committed here."

I took a deep breath, trying to choose my words carefully, but knowing with a momentary despair that I had cast the die for well or ill. Her fury once roused was a sheer force of nature; I'd never had it turned on me before. Weathering the storm would be difficult, but I had to do this. I couldn't call myself a paladin and a just man if I let her hasty order stand. "And I'm your husband and given trust as lord of this keep, so my authority stands equal to your own."

Pride was a dangerous thing once roused—it so easily caused sense to take flight. And while anger shone bright in her eyes and a hint of fear…yes, wounded pride was also clearly there. She had built up this keep herself, and probably grown well used to my polite and expedient deference to her as my leader in a time of war. My challenge obviously shocked her, and if I managed to override her now she probably feared losing face in front of the men. "You have that position only because you're married to me," she said through gritted teeth.

My own ire rose at the insult, and I beat it back down with difficulty. "I fought each battle by your side and shed blood many a time at the forefront of the fight, so do not dare to insult me by implying that I'm a mere jumped-up fortune hunter. But if you reject my word as Crossroad Keep's lord as falsely earned, then you _will_ still accept that I carry the authority of Tyr as his paladin, and concerns of justice are _my _province. There will be no execution without trial and a chance for him to explain his actions, and an opportunity to show whatever regret—if any—he has in his soul."

"You won't permit it?" Marrin was obviously upset, but neither of us seemed particularly aware of it at the moment, caught in the drama unfolding here in the courtyard.

"I won't, no." I didn't even look at Bishop to see how he was probably smirking at evidence of discord between Lianna and me. Such trials the gods sent; for me to invite coldness from my wife for the sake of a man who hated and belittled me and then betrayed us all to die. There was a bitter, galling irony that after coming through so much hardship together, our first true quarrel was over the man who had rivaled me for her affections, as though we were right back again in the heart of the war against shadow. But I was bound by oaths far stronger than mere sentiment, more than my own deep-seated impulse to see him dead for his evil. "I can't," giving her a silent plea for understanding.

She was silent for a few long moments. "Then, _paladin_, I give him to your keeping." I closed my eyes a moment at the sad bitterness with which she said my title. With that one word, she made it clear that I had chosen to act as a paladin and not her husband, and so I had set myself apart from her. "Judge him and deal with him. Alive or dead, I don't want him in this keep beyond noontide tomorrow." Adjusting Marrin's weight in her arms, she headed for the path up to the keep. She stopped about ten paces away and looking over her shoulder one at Bishop, she had one last parting shot for him. "Count yourself fortunate that Casavir is a better man than a shit-heel like you ever was or could ever hope to be."

I couldn't bear to watch her leave, couldn't even touch on what price I might have just paid and how I might explain myself to her later. So I turned back to him, my temper rising again to see his still impassive expression. At least he wasn't showing a twisted glee at causing strife between us. "In coming back here, you are either showing yourself to be the greatest damn fool of the whole Sword Coast, or else some other purpose moves you."

By way of answer, he tugged up his left tunic sleeve and showed me his arm. We had known him before for a Faithless, damned and doomed. For those rangers who chose to wear a god's tattoo, they traditionally put them on the insides of their forearms.

To have a god's sign set permanently in your flesh and allow them to claim you for the rest of your days implied a deep and utter commitment. Paladins always wore holy tattoos after taking their vows. Most rangers, druids, and clerics did as well, since those professions were closely aligned with the gods. Only priests trained in the art were permitted by law to give such tattoos to a person, after their demonstration of genuine faith. To wear one falsely wasn't only a mortal crime; it qualified as blasphemy and invited the gods to be more than a little pissed off.

He'd committed a fair amount of blasphemy and sacrilege in the time I'm known him and escaped divine retribution; maybe the gods were so tired of his constant posturing and yammering that they'd finally started to ignore it, figuring they'd just make him pay a thousand-fold in torment when he died.

Still, since the gods hadn't burned him into ash, I could only assume the tattoo was genuine. I needed only a mere glance to see that it was a stylized red band running around his wrist forming the interlaced strands of Caltish knots. I knew he'd have one to match on his right arm.

Only one god would mark his followers so. "Ilmater," I said softly.

"Yeah." With that, I sighed and gestured for him to follow me to the Keep. It was going to be a very long afternoon.


	3. Night of the Hunter

_**Bishop**_

Standing again in the courtyard of Crossroads Keep, I couldn't help but notice that in ten months since I'd left them, at least they'd gained some wisdom and left heavy guard on the gate. Whether credit for that went to Kana and Nevalle, or whether it was Lianna's decision, I didn't know.

The entire way here I had been debating who'd be the first to spring at my throat. Casavir would be very happy to do some holy smiting, I was sure. My gold was on Lianna, though—pissing off a woman was generally a bad idea. Pissing off a woman with the capability to take on three or four orcs solo with a sword was probably sheer lunacy. But I'd gone and done it, and thrown away possibly the one good chance I'd have had for something brighter in my life than just waiting for it to end.

I found out early in life that nobody cared for me. My father, when my mam was out of the whiskey bottle long enough for me to ask, was apparently "away". That avoidance of the subject and the pitying whispers of the others in Redfallows Watch, led me to understand long years later what must have been the truth. I was just somebody's by-blow, and in the villages of the Fallowmark, that caused talk. Whoever he was, gold-bedecked noble or dirt-scrabbling tinker, he probably never knew about me. He likely wouldn't have cared if he had.

Without a dad and with my mam barely there in any sense that mattered, an old trapper took enough interest in me to teach me a little woodscraft. Of course, his idea of a life lesson was to give me a skinning knife one night when he'd been heavy on the ale and tell me to try and stab him. Confused, I attacked him, actually got him in the leg and drew blood, at which point he growled at me to run if I wanted to live. I was six years old and scared as all the hells of what he might do to me, so I scrambled out of his shack, still clutching the knife. A few hours later I'd calmed down enough to remember some things; how to hide my tracks, how to make a rough shelter. Urlan still found me three days later deep in the forest. He'd just laughed mockingly, told me I'd passed his test, and gave me the knife as my reward. I still carried it even now.

A year and a half I'd spent trapping and hunting with him, before the raiders came. Three raids in the last year had made the villagers stupid and scared; this time they only put up feeble resistance while their homes were torched. So when the Luskans saw me, figured me for a likely prospect and snatched me up…easy choice for the villagers. Nobody was going to buck up the nerve to fight and save Kahlendra Rettikar's half-wild starveling bastard son. Obviously they decided that gallant stands and daring rescues were best left to the likes of paladins.

One wondered where the hells the paladins, who were only to happy to declare how devoted they were to the plight of the helpless, were in those years when Luskan was kidnapping children left and right. Gods knew paladins were very possibly some of the most annoying people in the whole of Faerûn. Bunch of hypocrites, and all the while pretending to holiness and righteousness when they clearly so loved the bloodlust of being at the front of a battle and smiting foes. So touchy, too, about their gods and their honor, always out to save your soul instead of your life. And if you looked at them cross-eyed they whimpered about what it might do to make them fall.

No paladins in Luskan, of course—the city spawned none from its black heart and none were stupid enough to come for a visit. My opinion of them came later: the first paladin I met was at the siege of Neverwinter, or rather, a former paladin. I was sixteen and after nine years of the life of a slave, they slapped a battered old longsword in my hand and told me I was now a soldier, so I'd better go kill some Neverwinterians. Leading our army was Aribeth de Tylmarande, the former paladin of Tyr who had recently experienced a change of heart—having your lover wrongly hanged tended do that—and turned into Shar's blackguard.

I was only a rank or two behind her while she gave orders to the captains, blue-grey eyes glowing with an unholy light as she stared at the pile of rubble that marked the breach in the walls of the city she now so hated.

Already there was a little fighting going on inside the thick stone walls, and we could hear the battle cries and the roar of flames. Now and again on the breeze I faintly heard someone singing, a young man's strong voice. I didn't recognize the song, not even from those few deeply buried memories of a time before Luskan.

But at our head, Aribeth went still as a doe in the forest with the fireglow glinting off the black enamel of her armor. With a half-elf's keen hearing, she obviously heard more than we did, as she turned on her heel and hailed the captain of my division. "Do you hear that singing?"

Laheer had cocked his head to hear it better for a moment. "Aye, well enough, I suppose."

"Give word to your troops, Captain Laheer. When you find that boy—and he will wear Tyr's symbol—he is mine. I want him alive, and captured without mortal harm." Staring intently at him until he acknowledged, she nodded. "I have other matters I must attend to. But today, may your swords run red with the blood of Neverwinter."

Laheer had waited until she was out of earshot, and spat. "Crazy bitch, she is: wants me to risk my soldiers to catch some kid so she can play with him before she kills him. Paladins; they're all loopy bastards…blackguards too, they're just paladins that wised up."

"Holiness rots your brain," Sergeant Naerroth grunted. "Just like the pox." Laheer laughed and sounded the call to battle.

Ever since then, I'd refused to scout for paladins: the one time I tried he felt obliged to try and save my soul for Lathander. My threats and my dagger convinced him otherwise. I'd still well shared Laheer's opinion on the sanity of paladins when Duncan strong-armed me into Lianna's company, and of course she already had Casavir traveling with her, much to my displeasure. Being around that much self-congratulatory holiness made my skin crawl.

I did have one question answered when we rescued Shandra that first time. Whoever the singer was, of course he was a paladin. Entirely surrounded by the githyanki, Casavir had started a battle-hymn to Tyr to call for aid. The words were all in Thorass—Old Common—pretty much gibberish to modern ears, but I recognized the tune well enough as the one I'd heard over the ruin of Neverwinter's walls.

We didn't catch the man that long-ago day, and the blackguard got talked out of the fight and surrendered—obviously a paladin, in the end—and was executed for her trouble. But despite virtually no training, I "distinguished" myself at that battle by stealthily taking out almost a dozen Neverwinter fighters before the day was done. That was noticed and resulted in my being selected to train as an assassin. Four years of apprenticeship, and I took the skills they gave me, intending to turn the talents back on them at Redfallows Watch and slip the hated Luskan leash.

Obviously that didn't quite work out like I'd planned. The people of the village died like the mindless sheep they were even though I tried to make them save their own lives. I was still young enough then to feel some kind of bitterness at that, and I managed to take down a good five of my companions before they shot me full of arrows in return. Seemed like I dealt in double-crosses even then: I'd betrayed my home village and seen them slaughtered, and betrayed the Circle of Blades as well. Lying there, feeling myself slide into the embrace of darkness, I thought it was a good day to die, my time to end the empty nothingness I'd known since I was seven years old.

Then of course, Duncan Farlong had to wander into the burning ruins and being a noble twit, he searched for survivors. He found only me. Even with most of my Luskan clothes ruined, he must have known the truth—I could see it in his eyes in the next three weeks when he shoved healing potions down my throat as I recovered from the burns and wounds that permanently scarred me. He never stated it explicitly, but in his usual nonchalant manner, he let me know that he expected me to repay his kindness. After debating the pleasures of opening his veins as thanks, I couldn't escape that I owed him my life, for what little it was worth. Gods, how I hated him for ruining my bid for freedom and binding me to him with jesses of obligation like some damn tame hawk.

I spent the next six years showing him my contempt for the life he'd saved. When you had no special cares for survival, each fleeting day was all that mattered. I went out on jobs, scouting for whoever would pay me in gold, all business and my focus sharp out in the wild where any misstep could cost a man his life. When I came back to town and life started to weigh down on me again, I lost myself in the ephemeral things that were the only pleasures I allowed myself: drinking ale, getting a whore for the night, spilling a bit of blood, or sometimes just lying in my room in the Flagon with a pipe of khabbis and enjoying the sheer absence of thought it brought.

Nothing mattered to me; I definitely didn't matter to anyone. I drifted along like an autumn leaf in the river's current, without consequence, without commitment, just doing whatever I pleased. I made a fair amount of enemies for my perfect willingness to trade sides in a heartbeat if the gold was better or if my current employer pissed me off enough. Someday, I'd thought, I'd meet up with someone who decided they wanted to kill me, and that didn't bother me at all. I'd rot away just like every other worm-riddled carcass and that would be it.

Then the farm girl got herself kidnapped, and Duncan shoved me in with the bunch of do-gooders that had been haunting the Flagon the past months. I could hardly refuse to repay his debt and finally be free of him. As for Lianna I'd been noncommittal; I'd told her to get lost when she'd approached me earlier. But she was a sister of the wild and capable enough that she hadn't gotten killed yet, so that gave her a few marks in my eyes.

Oddly, maybe because she had such a fondness for the misfits of the world—we were more of a traveling freak show than anything—she hadn't judged me on that first outing. And because of that, and having no other good opportunities on the horizon for distraction, I stuck around. The longer I stayed, the more I wanted to. Probably for the first time in years, I'd had someone look at me and see something more than a piece of human trash or, in the case of some pathetically bored women, a man who got her all hot and bothered by not knowing if I'd bed her or stab her.

She took whatever crap I gave her and answered right back without an air of smug righteousness; and she dealt out the orders while having the brains to listen to the opinions of the others in our group. In spite of myself, I respected that, and her obvious capabilities. She was a good-looking woman too, and I couldn't help but notice that.

If not for the paladin, I would have had her. She obviously enough cared about me to treat me with respect, and even if she had too much of a do-gooder complex, she was willing enough to not play fully by the rules if it achieved the desired result. A hidebound hymn-groveler should have been the last kind of man to catch her interest. But by the time I got forced in with them, he was already giving her longing looks. I'd heard about Casavir Erelissohn before; a knight and a paladin killing a noble's son tended to make tongues wag, and his fleeing the city into the wilderness to escape justice only made it all the more delicious. Pierval Valessar had put a bounty on his head for fully two years: he'd promised to pay five thousand in gold. People had sold their own children for less, let alone a paladin on the run, so it was a wonder Casavir had escaped capture long enough for Pierval to cool down and rescind the offer.

By the time I met up with him, with Lianna's help he'd also killed Mordren Greendale. A regular budding scourge of the nobility: I could _almost _have liked him for that. As for his intentions with Lianna, I wasn't too worried. Harmless idiot, I'd always thought, although far more entertaining than Grobnar because he was at least aware enough of desire to smolder with its repression. But he'd gone for completely innocent weapons training into the woods with Shandra and Lianna dozens of times. I'd sneaked up on them once out of sheer curiosity. Casavir, as usual, proved a massive disappointment: only a paladin would be totally alone with two pretty women and really just be interested in giving them sword lessons.

He hadn't been too amused when I'd told him to do all of us a favor and just find a comely wench and bed her already. They might have been largely celibate, enough so to make them complete bastards to be around because of the sexual repression, but I doubted there was a paladin in Faerûn who hadn't taken advantage at least sometimes of the legions of starry-eyed twits who happily would welcome a holy warrior into their bed for the night. So the whole idea of him acting like a tongue-tied shy virgin to draw in Lianna was annoying as all the hells. Whether he did it deliberately or not, at least I didn't lie to her, or myself.

I'd thought either he was the stupidest man on the whole of Toril and genuinely had no idea how longingly she looked at him in return, or else Tyr really had made him sacrifice his balls both literally and figuratively. Well, a few more months, my thoughts ran, and my chance would come. So many women were smitten with paladins, until they hopefully came to their senses and realized that the idiot was more interested in her soul than her body. Just a little longer and she'd be more ready to entertain offers from me for what the paladin was never going to give her. By that point I was willing to admit that just by simple example and her lack of agenda concerning me, she actually had inspired me a bit to give a damn.

I'd kept myself pretty amused at the farce the two of them made until just after Shandra was killed at Ammon's Haven, and they loped off into the woods again to practice. About the only good I could say for paladins was that they were handy in a fight, devoted as fanatically to training for combat as to whining hymns. My own talents ran more to ranged combat and the subtle dagger between the ribs. I was practical enough to not let pride get in the way of victory: I'd readily admit he could tear me to pieces in an honest melee duel. So if it came to a fight between us, I knew I'd have to avoid a direct confrontation if possible and tip the odds my way however I could, and hope to drop him before he could carve me up.

If he was merciless towards himself in pursuing perfection with a blade, he ran Lianna equally hard. So after a good three hours of beating the shit out of each other inspired by pent-up frustration, of course they always came back looking tired. The venison stew was just about ready, and I'd assumed that day when they wandered in exhausted as ever from sparring, it was business as usual.

Then I caught the scent, a whiff of something familiarly musky. Probably only Sand and I would have picked up on it, and he was back in Neverwinter. But human, elf, tiefling, whatever race: no matter how people tried to dress it up with pretty words, we rutted just like animals, and like them, we inevitably smelled of it. It was faint, very faint, so they must have cleaned up at one of the forest pools or streams. But there was still a trace of it on their clothes.

I couldn't believe it. The implication was obvious, and I caught the few half-hidden meaningful glances and smiles between them, as fiercely as I was watching. I'd spent most of the evening as we settled down for the night with my brain churning with all-too-vivid images of the two of them together out in the woods. She'd wasted no time. Must have finally loosened his tongue enough to get him to admit he loved her, and she'd moved right away to let him fully claim her as his. I'd never had a chance.

Seething with my anger, I'd drawn first watch that night, and stared at him a long while in the firelight, knowing I could kill the gith, my watch partner, in a soundless heartbeat, and move right on to him.

Cunning bastard and my bad luck; he'd been traveling on his own long enough that while on the road, even in sleep he took care to not be ambushed. Back to the fire so nobody coming from the woods could surprise him, he slept with his head resting on one elbow of his folded arms, while the other arm and his shoulder served to entirely cover the vulnerability of his throat. Only a little of the back of his neck was exposed above the collar of his hauberk, and while a well-aimed dagger thrust there would sever his spine and kill him, it lacked the sinister elegance of the assassin's "red smile" across the neck. And never let the implication stand that I didn't still prefer my work to have some flair back then; mindless butchery I left to barbarians and Luskan twits.

I'd jabbed him in the ribs hard with the toe of my boot, and he started abruptly, automatically reaching for a throwing dagger. "It's your watch now—rise and shine."

He'd glowered at me a moment in the firelight, then threw off his cloak and sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "All right," he finally acknowledged, reaching for his sword.

"Little slow tonight, Casavir," I said mockingly. "Bandits would have left you for dead already. Did our dear captain give your sword such a thorough workout that you're so tired?"

"Excuse me?" His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, fleeting suspicion in his expression at my deliberate double entendre. I could read him like a book, the thought written across his face: _Does the ranger know?_

I'd smiled easily, playing innocent. "Just walk canny about it. Your weapons teaching might be turning her into a regular Valkyrfel, but it doesn't look good for a man, let alone a paladin, if you can be bested by a mere woman."

"I didn't ask for your advice," he bit off with a frown. "And I would be a damn fool to deny her and our quest every help I can give just as a matter of my own pride. I hope," he leveled me with a cold look, "Bishop, that you can say the same."

Through half-closed eyes after I lay down, I saw him watching her as she slept, and smiling thoughtfully to himself. I stared at her a moment. "Lying bitch," I'd whispered to myself, rolling over and turning my back on both of them.

I wasn't a man for vows, seeing as I'd long prided myself on not allowing myself to be bound to any master, whether man or god. But that night, tasting bile, I'd sworn that they would both pay. Him, I hated because he was a man who could have charmed any woman into his bed with that damn paladin charisma, but he had to steal the one woman who should have been mine. Her, I despised for making me believe for the first time in years that I had any kind of hope for something more, all the while playing me for a fool. I'd decided that I would hurt them as they'd hurt me. The time wasn't right yet, though; I could be patient and wait for the right chance to spring my attack.

After she came back from Neverwinter with a knight's cloak, she asked to speak to me in the godswood she'd planted in the Keep's walls. "I know you don't follow any deity," she'd said, "so don't think I'm trying to convert you. But it's easier for rangers to find words in some bit of the wild, I think."

I realized now she couldn't have won in any way she tried to break the news that I already knew. If she'd tried to be kind and say that I was a perfectly fine man, I'd have laughed at her. If she offered that she couldn't love me because I was an evil bastard, I'd have told her she was absolutely right on both counts. She chose her usual way: simple honesty. Later I'd think that it was a mark of a friend's respect that she didn't try to buy me off with lies, but at the time, it was hard truth to hear.

"I don't have illusions that I need to plan for the long term," she'd said, looking at me with troubled eyes. "A good part of me thinks that few of us will survive past the final battle; I almost certainly won't. But since my time is short…it can't be you, Bishop, I'm sorry. You may become a good man in time, and I think you've already started to see that there's another way to go. And I _want_," her voice suddenly low, "to help you there, as your friend. But you're too hard, too unforgiving. You can't allow for simple human weakness in anyone, and you can't trust them. As you are, you can desire me, but I don't think you can truly love me."

I'd acted my part well, reassuring her that yeah, though I still didn't like Casavir, I wasn't going to gut him some night in revenge. She'd smiled, obviously relieved.

After that I spent eight months of playing along as the loyal companion, waiting for my chance. Eight months of watching the two of them grow ever closer, seeing how they lit up in each other's company, how they shut out the world when they talked together, completely absorbed in each other. How he made her laugh and smile, how they came downstairs too many mornings looking tired but pleased. It should have been me, I thought, and my rage and resolve to punish them grew each time.

I saw my chance during the siege and seized it. Dumb thing to do, really; had Crossroads Keep been taken because I wrecked the gates, the whole Sword Coast would have fallen under shadow. Even I wasn't that evil as to desire that. But at that moment all I could think about was that my moment had come, and I'd savored the shattered look on her face when I'd revealed my lies and treason to her so softly that only she, Casavir, and Khelgar heard, before I turned and ran.

It still wasn't enough. I joined Garius with the promise that he'd let me fight against them, and that he'd guarantee that Casavir was mine alone to kill. Then there would be no impediment to my claiming her, and I figured my betrayal and forcing her to watch him die would be punishment enough. That was my sole incentive: I didn't give a damn about his cause. But even after my stabbing Lianna in the back, even when she finally heard the whole of the unholy things I'd done and she spared me, and Garius started trying to order me around like a hired hand—that settled it. I was more than happy to also leave his service and abandon the whole lot of them to fight it out. Me, I'd just survive as I always did.

I spent the next three months in Neverwinter, up to my usual tricks. Maybe even more so than usual, because all too often, her parting words, barely more than a whisper of rage for no ears but mine, writhed within like flame_. I should have seen this long ago. Go and be as truly you are then, faithless…friendless…forsaken…a fucking __**coward**__ in every way. You'll live, Bishop, and someday realize what you threw away._

Too bad she wasn't there to see her curse work on me. Finally springing my betrayal and seeing the hurt in her eyes had been a few hours of sweet, hot pleasure, but unfortunately, I didn't realize the truth until it was too late. Treason might have presented herself as a tempting little minx ripe for the taking, but really, it was a shackle-binding marriage with a hag who constantly harped at you and kept you awake nights. You could never get rid of it.

She was right, much as I swore at her memory for it. I'd had a chance for something lasting, even if it didn't include bedding her. And I'd thrown it away because of the paladin. In the end, I handed Casavir total victory without a fuss. He'd won the biggest battle that day in the Neverwinter Wood when she chose him for her lover, but he won the war when I'd removed myself entirely from her friendship by doing the one thing she couldn't forgive.

Those were depressing thoughts to keep me company. I got to Neverwinter, and it took me a few days to recognize that it struck me as off that people weren't pouncing on me to arrest me.

The only thing I ever got was some disdainful stares and a few growls about cowardice from those who had heard of my running away from the battle, and gradually it dawned on me that I'd got away with my actual betrayal. The idiots didn't even know it was me that had sabotaged the stronghold and almost sent the Sword Coast under shadow; in the rapidly spreading bard's tales of the last stand of the missing Knight Captain and her brave companions, it was inevitably the dark magic of the eerie undead army that broke the gates of Crossroads Keep.

I kept my mouth shut, able to know a good thing when I saw it. If Nasher wasn't seeing fit to send me to dance the hempen jig for treason, I certainly wasn't going to clue him in. So for the next months, I buried myself in a little freelance work here and there for those who asked no questions. A few pieces of gold pressed into my palm, leaving it just as quickly, trying to forget her curse on me, and trying to forget her.

I'd resorted to wenching for about a month until I realized that every whore I picked was dark-haired, fair-skinned, curvy and lithe, and I used them harder than was my habit. If I ever said her name while I was with them, they had the sense to never mention it. The first time after that little revelation dawned on me, put lightly, the girl got the coin more for her silence about my sudden embarrassing lack of enthusiasm than for any services performed. After that, I stayed away from the brothels in favor of other, less risky diversions.

I haunted the taverns—not the Flagon though—going through ale and mead, cheap and rough, by the tankard. I got to know the bare-knuckle fighting clubs well enough on the nights when I craved blood and pain; whether it was my own or someone else's didn't matter much.

Or I'd head to the dens of the Painted Wyvern and spend a few hours "hunting the griffon", as the codeword at the door went, with the blissful relaxation of khabbis, or on a few really bad evenings, the hard-hitting daze of opherim.

Even Karnwyr avoided me, and kept his silence except for a short word now and again. Last time I'd been in this kind of funk, it had been after Redfallows Watch when I ended up swearing off Luskan and my assassin's training. I should have figured that now that I was brought low again, I was due for the gods to mess with my head one more time.

I'd been in the Merchant Quarter late in Hammer coming home from a pretty satisfying brawl against a berserker in the Hruna Cross with my knuckles split open and a black eye, the unbearable edge taken off. I thought I could maybe go sleep for a few hours in peace after that; dawn was just about breaking. As I passed an alley, keeping to the pre-dawn shadows, I heard a faint hiss of "Get the kid!"

Looking towards the voice, two men were standing underneath an open window at the back of a house in shadow-skin clothes, one of them wrestling with a boy of about eight. A kidnapping; they weren't uncommon in these days with Brelaina more concerned with her prestige than her duties as usual. The tattered remnants of the Docks gangs were warring for supremacy and that took coin and power. Taking a hostage for ransom, or to torture or kill them to send a message to someone who didn't pay proper respect…happened at least half a dozen times that I was aware of.

I'd stared at the boy a long moment, remembering being seven years old and fighting like all the hells against a Luskan on horseback. I earned a bloody nose and a few other assorted bruises for my trouble there when he ran me down. Two days later, near the Luskan border, after I tried to escape again for the third time, he added to that tally with a deliberately broken leg. His wine-thick breath washed over me as he hissed in my ear, slinging me over his saddlebow like a dead deer while I tried not to sob with the pain, "Not going to run so fast now, are you, cubling?" I'd definitely enjoyed killing him thirteen years later at Redfallows Watch. And after that, every Luskan I killed, I reasoned, was one fewer to make more of me.

Paladins annoyed me; so did patriotic idealists, sycophants, naïve morons, and politicians. But I had to admit to actual black, fierce loathing that I reserved for those that used children to their own ends and didn't give a crap how they warped them in the process: the kidnappers and ransomers, the kidsmen with their flocks of young forced thieves, the slavers to the south, the perverts who went to brothels to lie with children, or even those who went closer to home and raped their own daughters.

I'd hesitated a moment, somewhat torn by the scene before me. Even if this was a spoiled merchant's brat who was probably pissing himself and whimpering, he was just a kid, and shouldn't have his fingers or ears sent home as grisly messages for whatever his parents hadn't done.

When one of them squalled "Bastard bit me!" that settled it. The kid was no coward, and he had the sense to get out of there. After being dropped like a sack of meal, he scrabbled to his feet and ran past me like Kezef was hot on his heels. I had to give some kind of respect to a kid who'd fight like that and had the brains to not get in over his head.

But they'd be back the next night, or lurking around a corner, until they got him. If I were a more honorable man, I'd have stepped into the alley and openly challenged them, told them to stop picking on small children and face me instead, and so on. But I wasn't. Keeping to the shadows, the first warning they had of my presence was when I buried my dagger in the middle of the bigger one's back.

He let out a startled grunt as the force of my blow sent the air from his lungs, and it slowly dribbled away into a hissing sigh as he fell to his knees and then into a crumpled heap. "Want to try someone more your size?" I challenged the rat-faced one.

"Stay out of this," he snarled, clutching his bleeding hand where the boy bit him.

"See, there's a problem, scum. Your partner seems," I stepped around the body of said partner, carefully avoiding the pool of blood, "to have run into my dagger—how tragic. I'd suggest you go back to your handler and tell him that picking on this kid could be, oh, I don't know, somewhat _hazardous._"

"Got a name to give Bharrin?" he said reluctantly.

"No. Now get lost before I change my mind."

He scurried off, and I put my dagger away just in time to feel myself grabbed. Reaching for it again, cursing my stupidity in not thinking of there maybe being a backup squad, I finally heard the high-toned shriek of "Sir! Thank you, oh gods, thank you!"

I was let go and turned to see a lovely young woman standing there after hugging me for dear life, the kid standing at her side. "Huh?" I managed, staring at them.

She glanced down at the body lying at my feet, then looked at me and saw my black eye and scraped knuckles. Her green eyes lit up. "Oh, dear sir; I'm so very sorry you've been injured in the fight, but in doing so, you saved Kellas—my son—and I thank you."

I must have had a look of total incomprehension on my face. "Kell told me that when he ran out of the alley he almost collided with you walking past. Your heart's kind, for you to see his danger and take on this scum," she kicked him with a vengeance, "so that he could get away."

"Eh…don't worry about it," I muttered, trying to slink away. Nothing doing: the merchantwoman was like a damn hurricane, and every chance I tried to take to explain and get away, she just pressed her case all the harder. So just after dawn, I found myself the honored breakfast guest of Hannelle Rannishore, the foremost silk-seller of Neverwinter, and her son Kellas. An Ilmaterian healer was summoned to tend to my minor wounds, and she fiercely fended off the inquiries of Brelaina's men about the dead body in her alley. When I left her door near noontide it was with her eternal gratitude and her insistence on giving me a fat purse of gold.

If Lianna, wherever she was, could have seen it, she'd have been laughing herself sick. What came next would have amused her even more. I crawled into bed and slept. When I woke up in the evening, despite the lingering bruises from the tavern fight, I felt an odd sensation come over me.

Lying there staring at the timbers of the ceiling, it took me a good while to identify it. Satisfaction: and it wasn't the sly, self-congratulatory kind of having pulled a fast one over on a widow's love for her kid. Mistaken as she was about my motives, I'd still kept the kidnapper's claws out of her son, and well, to hear words besides the snarls of curses on my name…maybe it just caught me at the right time, but it tugged at echoes in my head of another woman who'd praised my abilities and not assumed the worst of me at first sight.

I couldn't say it was by any means an all-encompassing thing, but amidst the storm of chaos that seemed to have defined my life, there was now a strange, tiny corner of quiet. I'd sought that calm so desperately at the bottom of a tankard, in the sweet smoke of khabbis, and it always evaporated after a short time. As that day went on, I couldn't help a deep trepidation that this bit of peace too would pass, and I'd be left to glumly ponder once again how to get out of my own head for the night.

But it stayed with me that day and into the next. After half a tenday, I let myself believe it was mine to keep.

Almost a tenday later, I was in the Silver Stag with a tankard of its excellent silvermead, treating myself a bit since I was soundly in coin. A moon elf started trying to make friends with the distracted owner's lonely little girl playing with her puppy behind the bar. Seemingly innocent, his words, but there was a sinister slyness to them. I thought in less than a month he'd be inviting her to come out with him so he could buy her a present—yeah right. The only unwrapping that was on his mind was hers. Watching him with something like disgust, I thought about the kernel of calm that the business with the Rannishore kid bought me.

So I picked up a chair and broke it across his back. Just an experiment, really, to see if what had transpired in that alley was only a fluke. But in the ensuing melee—everybody loves a good tavern brawl, even in civilized Neverwinter—I got him by the throat and snarled in his ear, "Try to play nasty uncle with a little girl, and next time you'll have something more lasting than bruises, elf."

His breath was a harsh sob and he stunk of fear. "Of course," he whimpered. He scurried away when I let him up, though not without a good kick to his bony elven ass to speed him along. As for me, I sneaked off before the mess cleared up and a finger could be pointed at me for starting the whole thing.

Next morning, I woke up once again feeling strangely fine. I must have had a stupid grin on my face, since for the first time in weeks Karnwyr ventured to mind-talk to me. "OK this morning?"

"Yeah," I said, ruffling his fur a bit as I reached for my boots. "I think so."

"Good," as he padded towards the door, glancing back at me with knowing eyes in the dark mask of his fur, "been whimpering like pup for moons, Bishop."

I stared after him. Well, that was one way to put it. He always did have too damn much sense; I'd raised him from an orphaned pup that I found in the snows near Moonlake five years ago, the only survivor of his litter. If not for the companion's bond between us, I'd have been entirely alone. It was a bit sad to think that my only friend was a wolf, but then again, maybe not. Animals were honest with themselves and each other; if he chose to stay with me it was for good reason, despite anything I'd done. "Hey," following him downstairs. "Have you ever…ah…thought about leaving?"

"Wolves need pack to survive," he thought swiftly. "Together you and I pack…alone, we die. I protect you, you protect me. Pack brothers." He hesitated a moment, adding, "Too long in city, maybe?"

I nodded. "We're stuck here for now, Karnwyr. Nobody needs a scout in winter."

"Protecting pups?" he asked with interest. "Two times now."

"Maybe," I said defensively. "Hells, if it lets me sleep at night, I'm willing to do about anything…"

"Better than smoke-weed or drink," laughter in his voice. "Nights past, you _stink_. But pups need guarding." He paused a moment. "You guard me long ago."

So there it was. Over the next few months, looking after the kids of Neverwinter turned into my new addiction. As I told Karnwyr, it let me sleep at night, dimmed Lianna's accusations about my general worthlessness. And unlike losing myself in khabbis, brawling, or ale, I didn't wake up feeling like crap.

Not that I was becoming a do-gooder by any lights. The adults did nothing for me; they were grown and if they didn't have the sense or strength to look after their own skins, I wasn't going to intercede on their behalf. And I still wasn't rescuing any cats from trees, no matter how much a kid was crying. I didn't have time for that; my concern was with those who were in real danger of being abused.

By day I kept up my usual stuff, keeping up the swagger, advertising for some work. In the areas I was staying in, the rough image was everything, and being openly known as looking out for somebody's brats would lose you a lot of face. I couldn't afford that, especially seeing as I definitely hadn't gone soft. Just because I was taking out some trash didn't mean I was turning into a paladin.

Besides, it was only under the forgiving cover of twilight and shadow when most of the dangers to the kids came crawling out from under a rock. At some point, it moved from just interceding only when I stumbled across a situation, to openly prowling at night for the predators, hoping I'd get the chance to kick their teeth in.

I always kept to the shadow myself on those jobs, and the assassin's training came in handy there—it wouldn't do to be recognized. If I crossed the wrong people it would be too easy to end up floating in the harbor some fine morning.

The Watch members that weren't in the pocket of the gang leaders started talking about the newly-dubbed "Grey Hawk" and his fire-eyed "hell-hound" who were taking out those who preyed on the kids, and I smiled into my ale to hear them expressing some kind of admiration for someone who stepped in where the law just entirely tied their hands. Some cheerfully remembered Watch Lieutenant Lianna Thirsk's eager efforts to end the corruption in the Docks, and were pretty damn happy that someone was lending a hand, even on the quiet.

One night in Ches, I got word—there was always someone who couldn't keep their mouth shut—about a shipment of kids headed for slavery in Thay. I broke into the house in the Merchant District, aided by the dark of a new moon. Smuggling the eight kids out of the cellar where they were being kept was easy when I just told them to shut up and keep moving, but we still made too much noise. The guard and I got into a fight and he knifed me in the side before Karnwyr tore his throat out.

I'd taken some wounds before on my nights out on the prowl; inevitable, since the jobs were rough and the people I was up against equally so. But since I refused to pay tribute to any of Faerûn's pantheon, I didn't have the spells most rangers received from a patron deity. That included basic healing magic. To make up for it I was fairly skilled with herblore, but the burning pain and the constant sticky flow of blood between my fingers told me that this was probably beyond potions.

A little unsteady, I made my way into the first temple I came across, dimly noticing the crimson banners on the walls. The tall, broadly built priest who greeted me, I readily recognized—the merchantwoman had called him two months ago to heal me up after I rescued her boy. So I was in the temple of Ilmater.

He didn't waste time. Murmuring a few words, light surrounded his hands, and as he reached for mine, I braced myself for the fierce stab of pain, like a thousand daggers, that always came when a divine mage used a healing spell on me. Casavir had bluntly explained it to me while patching me up after a battle: the magic of a good-aligned deity didn't much like the evil brewing in me, so the negative reaction of the two meeting in my body hurt like the hells. "Your evil must be minor," he'd pronounced, giving me an almost hopeful look, "since at least you _can_ still be healed by a good mage. So you're better off than Ammon Jerro. He's so riddled with darkness that I'll bet I can't do a thing for him. I'm not sure," he looked concerned, raising an eyebrow, "if it just wouldn't work, or if the adverse reaction might actually kill him."

Just before I passed out, I noticed that strangely, it didn't hurt.


	4. The Sword Coast Redemption

**_Bishop_**

For the next tenday after my collapse in the temple of Ilmater, I was stuck in the hands of their healers, getting gruel and healing potions foisted on me, and having my bandages regularly checked, the wound inspected for redness or dark streaks or the smell of corruption, and the like. I heard more discussion than I ever wanted to about the state of my bowels.

The healer who'd twice patched me up now, I found soon enough, was actually the Revered Brother Janneth Sandower, the head of the House of Healing, Ilmater's temple in Neverwinter.

I'd already guessed he was of some importance, though. Clergy tended to distinguish their ranks somehow through dress. In the Triad, so popular here in Neverwinter, the Tormish ones were the easiest. Their ranks wore entirely different colors, from uncolored to dusky purple.

The Ilmaterians, though dressed almost entirely in unrelieved red and grey. Not that I'd spent time paying much attention to churchgoing types in the past, but since I'd been stuck convalescing, I'd noticed that the darker the shades, the more clout a person had here. The newest novices in scarlet and dove grey always got a look of respect on their faces when the Revered Brother in his brick and ash grey passed by.

I was actually pretty pleased with my deductions. It didn't take much to keep me amused at that point, since thinking was about all I was allowed to do. Any attempt to get up and walk around got me scolded and ushered right back to my bed, if I didn't manage to drop in a heap first. But nothing wrong with my eyes, or my powers of observation, I was happy to learn.

Tyr was probably the same, come to think of it: his faith was every bit as old as Ilmater's. I recalled noticing the youngest Tyrrans ran around in pale blue and white, all the way to Reverend Justiciar Oleff in midnight blue and purple; though I'd picked up on it before mainly just be able to identify a Tyrran with ease. At that point I was irritated enough with the exalted paladin and his halo of righteousness to consider picking off a few of his temple brethren to whet my appetite since I couldn't take care of him.

After five days a chirpy, comely little female novice had handed me a grey linen robe and my trousers and boots, as I'd been stuck lying there in nothing but my undertrews. My leather jerkin and tunic must have been a loss. I dressed carefully, though the wound was mostly healed now. Finally, they let me wobble to my feet with a walking staff, and as I stood there, Karnwyr stretched lazily by my bedside, got to his own feet, and snickered. "Robes? Staff? Grow hair and look like Sand."

"Shut up," I'd growled, leaning on the staff, debating if I could stand unaided for the seconds I'd need to swat him across the nose; it was made of blackthorn and he'd feel it pretty clearly. I decided to be safe and not try.

Janneth wandered in just then and saw me, a smile creasing his thick grey beard and mustache with a flash of white teeth. "So, how do you feel?"

"Fine. Thanks for the patch job, but I should get going."

"Another few days," he'd said dismissively. "You still need to recover your strength somewhat. Healing takes much out of you."

Considering I was in no shape to even take on a pixie just then, I was secretly inclined to agree, but the thought of being stuck around so damned much _holiness _for too long unnerved me. The prayers, the incantations, the tapestries and pews and echoing stone walls…Ilmater was probably going to be pretty pissed that I was here. And at least I'd been able to get away from Casavir into the woods. I was trammeled up here, and the thought almost made me panic.

Coming a few steps closer, his bright blue eyes were suddenly sharp with knowledge. "Else you do the children of the city no good, mmm, 'Grey Hawk'?" his voice soft enough that nobody else heard it.

He knew, I realized, the blood suddenly draining from my face. So much for my little secret, and from how kindly he looked at me, he had the entirely wrong idea. Probably though I was saving the little brats out of charity. "Who else knows?" I said between clenched teeth.

He shook his head quickly. "I only thought so myself because I recalled the man who saved Kellas Rannishore. And when you chanced to come into our temple wounded, and I heard about a scuffle three streets over where some captive children were freed….for me, it was an easy connection. Few others would make it, if any," his tone attempting for reassurance. "Your secret lies safe. I would not betray a man who attempts to do good works in this world."

I laughed in his face then, interrupting the low, pious drone of a flock of novices chanting the afternoon prayers who stared at me, obviously startled. "_Good_? Old man, you've got the wrong ranger here."

"Have I?"

Cornered like a rat, I couldn't stand how he looked at me, seeing too much, assuming too much. Lianna had a way of doing that to me as well. And so I lashed out the only way I knew, throwing his kindness back in his face. "Well now, you want to know what happened in that alley back in Hammer? Don't think I did it out of goodness. I was coming back from beating the face of some idiot barbarian and winning twenty in gold at a brawl, and I decided it might be a public service to stab a twit who was too stupid to even kidnap a brat properly without screwing it up. I killed him before he even knew I was there." The irritation welled up in me until I was fuming. "Stop guessing. You're just another fool who wants to make me into something I'm not."

He recovered quicker than I'd expected, and gave a half-shrug of his solid shoulders. "So if you wish, enlighten me."

"Oh yeah, and you can send for the City Watch right after I finish," I scoffed, hobbling a step forward on my staff towards the door.

"You are a man in need of healing, and by Ilmater's grace, I mean to provide it to you. As for your actions, they're your own, and what you say to me I'll hold to confidence. But come, let us sit. You look weary, and this is not a matter for the acolytes in any case."

He led me to his offices, offered me a mug of silvermead. I never had been one to turn down that kind of hospitality, unless I suspected it was poisoned. It'd help dull the ache in my side as well. As he idly pushed aside a few scrolls from his cluttered desktop, he gestured at me to go on, sitting back in his chair.

I smiled wolfishly at him. "I'm everything you hate, old man; rotten through and through. Any softness got beat out of me long ago."

"You've suffered greatly in your years," he agreed. "That much is clear." At my questioning look, he explained further, his eyes glancing to the tapestry on the wall of white hands bound with a scarlet cord. "Much of a man's life is written on his skin, my boy, for those who know how to read such things." his voice quiet. "And Ilmater's servants do—we see the most of the torments and suffering mortals inflict on each other. Take your back for instance. Obviously from the marks you were flogged, and it was while you were still a child; the scars were broken into a latticework as you grew."

He saw too much, as usual. "I was nine," I said roughly. That particular time, a Luskan guard had decided to indulge his taste for boys amongst the selection of a few dozen Neverwinter slaves. Seeing me and deciding my ass was tempting enough, he'd dragged me to his room. I stabbed him in the groin with Urlan's old skinning knife that I kept hidden in my boot, wild with panic. He died of a severed artery before the healers could arrive. They found me huddled in the corner, sprayed with the gore of his warm, sticky blood, still clutching the dagger. That earned me twenty tickles from the lash next morning, but at least it bought me safety from the others of his kind: none of them were willing to risk it with me after that.

Before long, I found myself reciting the litany of my pathetic life to Janneth, starting with my kidnapping and my years in Luskan, watching for the moment where his expression would fade from polite interest into total disgust.

I saw a set of well-worn scale mail on its stand through the half-open door to his quarters. He'd probably fought in the siege thirteen years ago now. I might have killed some of his friends. Even when I told him I'd been part of the forces that had tried to raze his city to the ground, he only nodded. "And your feelings on the battle?" he inquired politely.

"I didn't give a crap about your precious city, if that's what you're asking. I'd have just as soon killed the Luskans."

The bells rang for dinner just after I got to my assassin's apprenticeship and Redfallows Watch. "Enough for today, I think." He rose to his feet. "Come, we've got an excellent stew tonight, and you could use a hearty meal."

"So?" I challenged him, daring him to look at me and still be naïve enough to think there was something worthwhile in me.

"Your story isn't complete yet," was all he said.

"Just wait till you hear the ending."

"I shall."

After eating, I hobbled back for another session of ghoulish tales. Six years of bored debauchery went by pretty quickly then I reached my time with the former Lianna Thirsk, ranger of Mielikki, Lieutenant of the City Watch, and so forth. "The missing Knight Captain of Crossroads Keep," I said slowly, searching for the words. "I traveled with her."

"I'm aware. Your fellowship spent enough time in this city that your names were known to all the temples to help lend aid. I thought you might be the ranger that was described to me."

"Then you know why I'm not gone missing along with her and those other mindless sheep that followed her."

"Yes, you fled the siege of the Keep at morning light, telling them that you had no desire to die." He raised an eyebrow. "It makes a very interesting verse in a ballad, though from what I had heard, the gods turned you into a stoat for turning your back on your friends. Or maybe it was a slug. I'm not quite sure."

I almost laughed at that; it seemed ironically fitting that the bards had me being turned into a worm. "I didn't just run. I betrayed her, destroyed the gates of her keep, and left her to die."

"Why?"

I was silent for a few long moments, chewing over what to say. I finally settled for, "The paladin stole her from me."

"Ah. He stole her from you; she had pledged herself to you to the end of her days in the sight of men and gods both, then. I am very sorry that young Casavir acted in such a manner." The lightness of his words didn't hide the fact that beneath their deadpan delivery, he was calling my bluff.

"I don't like your tone," I growled, gripping the armrests of the chair tightly and making to get to my feet. "But he does have a history of taking women that he should keep his hands off, doesn't he?" I couldn't resist the insult, though Casavir had vanished months ago.

He couldn't quite hide a spark of irritation. "What business passed with Ophala Celderstorn is regrettable, but it's finished, and he paid the price for it. And I'd ask that you not mock a man who isn't here to defend his name. However, I did mean the question seriously: did she make you any vows?"

"No," I was forced to admit, disliking him intensely for it. There had been only the hints of kindness, the glances that I'd taken to mean something deeper.

"The lady, as I understand it, was—_is_—a woman of deep courage and kindness. You do her no credit by making her into a mere prize for two men to fight over like a pair of dockside mongrels."

I sat back, unable to keep from smiling. "So after everything I told you, I've managed to disappoint you with _that_? Well now, isn't that a surprise."

"Not disappointment, surprise. You sit there and want me to believe that a Luskan-trained assassin, a man without faith or pity, was brought low by mere longing for a woman who chose another?"

"Yeah. What, you think I stayed with that pack of freaks for a year just for the opportunity for cheap amusement?"

Now he smiled in earnest, like a cat with a canary. "How very interesting; you have a heart after all, Bishop Rettikar. And you haven't been saving children these past months just out of a lack of anything better to do, I think. Perhaps it's not compassion that drives you, but it's certainly not boredom. Maybe a sense of guilt?"

It was like one bout of practice those years ago in the Shadow Conclave that I recalled, a lesson well learned against Hassilea, the Night Mistress, the leader of the Circle of Blades. Fighting in the half-dim courtyard with only a dagger, I'd been thrilled to score a blow in practice on her, slicing her arm deeply. She stood there looking at me without even a sound of pain as her blood dripped from her fingertips down onto the sand. My pleasure at that feat had lasted as long as it took to look down and see the point of her stiletto resting just under my ribs, aimed upwards towards my heart, the strike pulled just short with utter self-control.

Rapidly it was becoming like that with Janneth; I'd though I'd made a hit on him with my mockery, and he deftly turned it right back on me while I was too busy congratulating myself. But this, at least, was more familiar territory. If the man was willing to meet me on my terms and force me to defend myself rather than just soothing me and telling me that I really wasn't a bad man if only I tried, then I almost liked him for that.

I spent the next four days arguing with him, about everything from burning my home village to betraying Lianna. "And so you were forced to do that?" he asked constantly.

Every time, I had to answer, "No." Some part of me hated him, but some other part respected him for being willing to stand up and make me admit who and what I was. And the longer I went on, the more I was determined to win this duel of words. Casavir had always either been too appalled at me or too obviously hopeful that he could turn me. And even Lianna had happily told me to shut up more than once, but she'd never dared to really face me down like this. If it hadn't been so damned uncomfortable, I could almost have enjoyed it.

"For a man who runs a temple of healers, you're giving me no quarter," I said, walking with him out in the temple gardens. The trees were in bloom, and in their shade it almost let me ignore that I'd been stuck in city walls for months now; far too long. At least I was able by that point to move without the need for the staff to help me now.

"Healers have to have some ruthlessness. Often to heal a wound you have to cause some pain." He smiled enigmatically at me. "And for a piece of advice, young man, don't think that those who follow the divines and choose to devote their life to serving others are soft. When we take up arms, we know how the body works in order to heal it, so we also know best how to harm it."

"Well, at least it didn't hurt this time," I'd grumbled. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Healing," I explained. "Every time the paladin—"

"He does have a name, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Every time Casavir," I stressed the syllables of his name with deliberate excess, "healed me up, it left me feeling like crap for a good while. He said it was a reaction against my evil. It ached a bit when you patched me up in the alley, but not this last time."

"That's due to the change of your nature, not any skill of mine. Don't start protesting. I wouldn't call you a selfless man by any means. But no matter your reasons, you've done good things in these last months, and not because your leader made you follow her actions. Those deeds are your own, and it's left its mark. You may not be a servant of good, but neither are you evil."

"This is a charming little scene, Sandower. Are you going to get all teary-eyed now, tell me that there's hope for me yet? Or is now where you tell me that I've crawled as far as I can out of whatever special pit in Cania the gods have for me and I'd better be happy with that? Oh, wait, I forgot; Kelemvor gets to stuff me into the Wall of the Faithless when I die."

He'd looked at me a long moment. "No, it's not up to me. I've heard your confessions. There's no more I can do for you."

"What?" That, I admit, stopped me in my tracks.

"Let me explain it to you as a ranger might understand. Except for a few gifted with sentience by Mielikki or Silvanus, the beasts of the wild simply react to the situation or the environment, as is appropriate. And they live, or they die. But the ability to reason, to plan, and above all, to recognize different paths and then choose which way you will walk: that is to what it means to be of mankind…to _act_. You've spent too many of your years living as an animal, Bishop Rettikar—merely reacting to what is thrust upon you, letting others make the choices, and refusing to commit yourself for fear of claiming responsibility for what results."

A few months before I'd have threatened to stab him, or else just laughed and agreed that sure, I was a dog, an animal, no better than I ought to be. But something had turned; I'd felt almost embarrassed. "You've changed in the last months, and you can't hide behind the excuse of ignorance or of blaming others for your actions any longer. I told you that your actions with the children are yours to claim, for good or bad. But your eyes have opened enough that you know there's a choice to be made here, and it's yours alone. This is your time to admit yourself a man. You can go back to the shadow and choose it willingly, or else you can continue to forge the new path you've already begun."

Panic welled up in me at that moment. He was right; some part of me had expected that after it was all said and done, he'd tell me where things stood and what I should do next. The words bit deep: to need to make a choice, and stand by it…that meant commitment, responsibility, lasting ties, everything I'd avoided with all I had in me for years.

He reached out to put a hand on my shoulder, looked at me a moment, and reconsidered; closing his hand and dropping it to his side. I appreciated that. "I will say that those who've known the deepest suffering can turn it either into anger or compassion. But you're healed up, and you don't need my temple's aid any longer. Go now with Ilmater's blessing: what you do now is up to you."

He left me standing there by the gates and headed back into the temple, humming a tune to himself. I watched him go, and checked myself to make sure I had everything I needed. They'd given me a new tunic, and I had my daggers with me: force of old habit to never be without them. All my other stuff was back at my room at the Sickle and Scimitar. Mind-calling to Karnwyr, I waited until he bounded out the door and joined me. "Let's get going."

I didn't go back to the Sickle except to get a few pieces of gear. Instead, I left the city walls and made a camp out in the forest. I needed to just be alone, without the crowding of too many people around me with their noise. Lying on my bedroll, staring up at the stars, I admitted I had a lot to think about. Things I hadn't considered in years cropped up now like unwelcome specters: my future, my fate, the state of my soul and my nature. _You've spent too many of your years living as an animal...what you do now is up to you._

I thought about Lianna, trying to squelch the bitterness and look at it from a different, truer angle. I should have won her; I'd never been wrong about that. As a fellow ranger, I had much more common ground with her than Casavir ever did. She'd remarked more than once that his faith and his devotion to others to the exclusion of his own welfare made him hard to know as a man. And with as skittish as he was about the whole mess he'd caused in Neverwinter, I'd had months to act while he was too busy feeling guilty to approach her. If I'd been a better man, would she have even needed to look at him with such interest or waited so long for him? A bitter brew, that thought, but I didn't turn away from it this time. That given those advantages over him I'd still managed to screw up meant only that she'd called the shot truly when she told me that she couldn't love me.

I didn't sleep much that night. About all I knew for sure was that I couldn't go back to the way I was. To whatever end, he'd made me admit over and over again that the things I had done were my own bad choices, that I'd blamed others for them because it was easier. I still hadn't saved those kids' necks for any reason but to soothe my own conscience enough to get a little peace, but that I'd even felt the need meant that I was capable of realizing what an ass I'd been.

Janneth was right: the awareness of it had crept up on me. It started with Duncan, when I hadn't just killed him to get rid of that pesky life-debt. It kept up when I followed Lianna, wanting something more than just my old aimlessness. The kids had shoved me another step in realizing that there were genuinely helpless people with predators ready to harm them, and that it bothered me.

I spent almost a tenday out in the woods. My skills as a ranger, dulled a bit with six months in the city, sharpened up again quickly. Turning my options over and over in my mind, I was halfway hoping for some kind of sign to help me out. When I became aware of that, I let out a snort of amusement at my own stupidity. "Looking to have someone direct you as usual, Rettikar," I mocked, poking the fire with a renewed viciousness. "For someone who bitched constantly about needing to be his own man, you sure enjoyed letting them make the choices."

"Talking to self now," Karnwyr snickered. "Funny, Bishop."

"Not like you're a great one for conversation," I snapped, tossing him a piece of spit-roasted rabbit.

"No," he answered after wolfing down the meat, lying down with his head on his paws. "But I stay," he added.

In the end, it wasn't that difficult when I cut away all the implications and conditions, and I got down to the real question. And that was whether I wanted to be pissed off and alone the rest of my life, or not. Deciding that after twenty-nine years I really didn't, I packed up my gear and started the hike back to the city.

I reached the House of Healing just after dawn. Waiting in the back of the chapel while the priests performed the rites for the morning service, I found Janneth. I couldn't quite keep a sheepish smile off my face. "All right, you've got me. But I can't do it alone."

He grinned, now daring to put the hand on my shoulder. "You aren't alone. Welcome, brother."

"I'm still not going to be running around rescuing people who won't even try to help themselves," I warned. "Don't think that for a moment."

He laughed at that, gesturing me into his office. "Fair enough."

Three days later, he sent me on my way towards the Monastery of the Scarlet Serpent, near the Sword Mountains. "You're a ranger," he said, handing me a letter to give to the Prior explaining my situation. "So you're probably the sort who would do better seeking guidance in a calmer atmosphere than I can provide here in the city."

When I arrived after almost two tendays of travel, it didn't surprise me to find out that they were used to receiving spiritual "works in progress", as I cynically thought of myself.

I was there barely five days before they sent me out to go quest for Ilmater's guidance. Sitting there, I tried to keep down thoughts of feeling like an idiot for sitting out in the breezes roaring around the bare rock of mountaintop, and worse, the odd fear that if Ilmater actually talked to me, he'd tell me to take a hike and maybe try the likes of Tempus, or even Cyric.

"All right already," I muttered finally. "I get the point; I don't need you to tell me what to do, but a suggestion or two would be helpful."

_There's the first step to wisdom_, I suddenly heard a deep, husky voice. _Be willing to ask for help, and you'll receive it._

Glancing around, I didn't see anyone there who could have been speaking. "So, Ilmater, I presume."

_Indeed. So, I know that you've known great pain in your years, and you know the nature of cruelty. Those with that understanding are my servants best equipped to fight against those who cause others to suffer. And you have courage that you admit that you search for something more. I would gladly claim one who shows your promise, and your concern for the most helpless innocents: the children of Faerûn. But understand this: you have far to go yet if you wish to count yourself as my true follower, and the way isn't without further sorrow and troubles._

"Care to elaborate?" Pretty straightforward, for a god—I'd expected some really impressive pyrotechnic display, maybe a little shaking of the ground, and that I'd get some generally cryptic pronouncements for the monks to mutter over and decipher.

_You'd have been rolling your eyes if I did that. I thought frankness would be best._ Oh great, now he was reading my mind. _Well, I __**am**__ a deity,_ he chuckled.

I didn't get many details while we talked; honestly, I didn't expect them. Somehow I had the feeling that fell under the "Find out for yourself" clause of the whole idea of picking your own path. But I got the idea clearly enough—I was on probation with Ilmater till I managed to make up for my past in some way.

I made it down the rabbit-narrow trail back down to the monastery still in time for dinner, and gave my report to the surprised monks. I couldn't help grinning at the looks on their faces; obviously they'd expected me to spend a few cold, boring days up there sitting around hoping for some inspiration.

I spent the next three months in the quiet of the mountains studying the ways of Ilmater with the monks. Placid, patient, and understanding, for the most part: I admitted I missed Janneth's wit and sharp tongue to keep me on my toes. But he was right, and the peace did me a lot of good. I actually found myself hoping that somebody was looking after the kids in the city while I was gone, though.

Finally Prior Berrinhard told me that his brethren had taught me about all they could. I knew the prayers, the rituals, the dogma, even the spells I should be able to cast as a ranger after Ilmater granted me the mage power to do it. The fact that I even had potential for magic, once I had a deity to draw power from, was news to me. My mam had been as mundane as they came, so whoever my dad had been, he must have been a mage. At least he left me something of value in the end.

I was secretly grateful the Ilmaterians chanted their rites, unlike the other two faiths in the Triad: the Tyrrans sang, and the Tormish almost snapped them out like dedicated sergeants. That was a good thing; Karnwyr always liked to joke that my singing was enough to make him want to howl, and I couldn't see myself barking out a prayer like it was a direct order. Then again, for the first few tendays my actually praying at all, in any way, amused me in a self-conscious fashion anyhow.

I could have backed out, right until the last moment where I knelt in the chapel and swore I'd serve Ilmater. But by that point, I didn't want to. Having some kind of hope to call my own was a novel thing, and one I fiercely wanted to keep hold of.

So by the end of Flamerule I was on my way back to Neverwinter, the new tattoos around my wrists healing. I looked at them now and again in the light of my campfire that first night. Ilmater took bound hands as his sigil, and I'd let them mark me with the symbolic red bands. But these at least were by my choice, unlike so many other marks I bore.

I had to admit, the whole thing was almost overwhelming. Some apprehension, of course, about exactly what I had to do to prove myself fully capable to Ilmater, but also just some sheer unalloyed contentment at finally having something that I could believe in besides that the world was just a lousy latrine.

I tried to cast a spell that night, since I hadn't wanted to give it a try in front of the monks in case I failed. Karnwyr was fast asleep, so I went ahead. "_Kieltä esliin, ikuned vala!_" Carefully I spoke the Ilmaterian incantation for mage-light; nothing too impressive for my first effort. I couldn't help crowing a little in pride at the sudden flash of white light around my fingertips. Even a kid at the Neverwinter Academy would probably have scoffed at the spectacle of a man nearing thirty being so pleased just at producing ordinary mage-light, but what the hells—even if it was little more than a cantrip, it was _mine_ to command now.

I kept practicing on the way back to Neverwinter. Karnwyr was especially amused when I got to polymorphing. The first time I managed the simplest spell, transforming into a badger, he pounced on me, pinning me under a paw. "Adorable, Bishop," he laughed, wagging his tail in amusement. "Badger tasty, too."

"Screw you," I mind-snarled, my fur bristling. "Don't forget I have wicked teeth now." He wasn't nearly as amused when I turned myself into an umber hulk later that day; in fact, he got stuck trying to hide under a log. That time, I was the one laughing. "You're getting too damn fat, Karnwyr," I mocked, trying to shove the log aside and letting him wiggle free.

He gave me a look of wounded dignity and trotted down the trail, shaking his fur and sending bits of bark, dirt, and loam flying left and right.

As soon as I got to the city, I reported back to Janneth. He congratulated me, greeted me with surprising warmth. After the noon meal, he asked to speak to me in private.

I sat down in the familiar chair again, half convinced by this point that I was wearing a pocket just my size in the cushion after sitting there for so many hours. "Don't know what happens next for me," I admitted. "I was hoping you might have some idea."

He quirked an eyebrow then shook his head, rolling his eyes slightly. "How foolish of me: of course you wouldn't have heard. The monastery is remote, and I imagine you didn't stop in many villages on your way back here."

"No, I lived off the woods as usual." I leaned forward, his tone catching my interest. "Why, what's happened?"

"Two months ago, the Knight Captain of Crossroads Keep returned here to Neverwinter."

I stared at him, trying to keep my jaw from dropping. "You're serious?"

"Of course. Not much is known; she spoke only in private to Lord Nasher about what passed while she was gone missing. I've heard accounts speculating on everything from her being in Mulhorand to wandering the wastes of the Nine Hells."

Never mind that, I thought. "She's well?"

"From what I heard, she appeared in fair health and spirits. I'd believe it, since she didn't seek out healing at this temple. Oleff and Freijha tell me neither she nor any of her friends came to them either."

"Freijha?" Then I remembered, waving off the explanation: Freijha Wolfsgar was the Truth Speaker at the head of the Temple of Faithful Service, Torm's temple in the city. Not that I'd had much cause to go see her or talk to Torm in the past: after all, I hadn't exactly been known for duty, truth, loyalty, obedience, or an appreciation of paladins.

"And yes, before you ask, Casavir returned with her. As did all the others who went missing from the Vale of Merdelain ten months ago after the two slain in battle were found by the search parties."

So they'd all survived whatever trials had come after the King of Shadows. I had to admit I was almost glad to hear it. "She's back at Crossroads Keep?"

"That was her destination, I'm sure, particularly since she's now its lady."

Another promotion: I could just imagine her gritting her teeth at being made a peer of the realm. She'd hated even becoming a _squire_, particularly to that braying paragon of Neverwinter adoration, Sir Grayson. "So," I said, resting my chin in my hand. "Looks like I don't need to sit and wait for a sign for where I start. It's pretty clear." I smiled without any humor. "If I survive it, anyhow, and I'm not placing any bets there."

"Nobody said it would be easy."

"Yeah, I guess not. I'll head out in the morning." I spent the rest of that day wondering just what I'd gotten myself into. I couldn't deny that the path forward to making up for what I'd done was pretty clear: I had to go to Crossroads Keep, explain my change of status, and hope that something short of my heart on a platter would satisfy her in the way of justice. At least I'd be getting my worst sin out of the way first on the list.

That didn't mean that the entire way there I wasn't wishing a little bit to be eaten by wild gundersnarks. That way maybe I'd at least get some credit in the afterlife with Ilmater for having good intentions. No such luck, of course. I reached the walls of Crossroads Keep safely; looked like the Suffering God well meant to make _me _suffer to prove myself.

The Greycloaks let me in, saw just whom they had in their clutches, and the blond corporal leading the watch hared off to find Lianna to deal with me. Standing there, trying to look more at ease than I felt, my ears were sharp enough to pick up a few hisses of "Coward" directed behind my back.

At least they didn't know the full truth, that I'd been the one who destroyed the gates, or I'd have been shot full of enough arrows on sight that I'd look like a hedgehog. That would have been a real irony: I'd trained most of the archers at this castle. When I'd started with them, half of them were farm-fresh and barely knew a longbow from a lynx.

Lianna came at almost a run, and I suddenly found myself staring at the snuffling bundle in her arms with some kind of shock. From the way she held it protectively close and looked at me with a furious gaze, obviously she wasn't just watching someone else's kid for a few hours. No need to ask who the proud father was: Casavir was right beside her, looking equally ferocious as his hand almost automatically reached for the hilt of a sword that wasn't there. Neither of them had weapons on them, and apparently they were stunned enough to not ask a Greycloak for one.

I'd reconciled myself to the fact that not only was I never going to win her heart, I'd be damn lucky to keep my head coming back here. I was even willing to admit that Casavir had won her, body, heart, and soul. But gods, she was bound to him even deeper than that now. A baby…that was one thing I had never expected. As a ranger she was smart enough to have known about herbs for contraception, and a big belly was a risk she couldn't take during the war against the King of Shadows.

But it had been a tenday less than ten months now since I'd last seen her right before Samhain. I couldn't see the kid to get an idea, though I wasn't great at estimating a child's age anyhow. Gradually, though, I had the sinking feeling that since they'd just come from the church of Tyr with the kid, this was its naming day, since newborns usually weren't allowed into a temple prior to that. Myself, I'd been named by a priest of Chauntea. His prayers for me and the village were just bleating in vain: he'd died butchered like a steer by the Luskans...I shook the thought off like an unwelcome pest. If I was right, that meant that the baby was at least four tendays old.

The mental arithmetic wasn't very hard after that. Not quite ten months gone by, their son—daughter, maybe?—was a little over a month old, and growing a human baby took about nine months. The implication was pretty nasty: it was almost definite that she'd been expecting already when I left her to her fate in the courtyard of this very keep, and I would admit now that I'd been half-ready to kill her along with the others in the Vale if she wouldn't submit to me.

Wonderful; I'd almost managed to murder a pregnant woman. Now, if I'd stolen a few lousy coppers of lunch money from a kid and beat up an old blind man, I'd have completed the full trifecta of being a thorough lowlife.

As I'd expected, the reunion wasn't exactly a happy one. Still sparking with rage, she ordered the Greycloaks to seize me, throw me in chains, and to make ready for a morning hanging. That was about what I'd expected, really, though I'd hoped to at least let her know I was sorry first and see if that settled her down.

What I didn't expect was for Casavir to speak up and argue with her about it. I'd always dismissed him as being so busy bowing and scraping and worshiping her that he was cowed enough to never even think that she could possibly be wrong, let alone speak up about it. But there he was, challenging her directly, and being obviously stubborn about it. Gods, now I was going to be in debt to _Casavir_? The entire Triad must have been giggling like fools at the thought. "You can't execute him."

"The hells I can't! I'm the lady of this keep, and under _my_ authority I have the right to punish him for crimes committed here."

"And I'm your husband and given trust as lord of this keep, so my authority stands equal to your own," he insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You have that position only because you're married to me." If this had happened ten months ago I'd have been laughing myself sick to see the two of them arguing this hotly. As was, I was almost embarrassed, particularly since I was the cause.

That shot from her pissed him off a bit; he didn't answer for a few moments, and his voice was tense with anger when he did. "I fought each battle by your side and shed blood many a time at the forefront of the fight, so do not dare to insult me by implying that I'm a mere jumped-up fortune hunter." His words grew harsher, almost cold. "But if you reject my word as Crossroad Keep's lord as falsely earned, then you will still accept that I carry the authority of Tyr as his paladin, and concerns of justice are myprovince. There will be no execution without trial and a chance for him to explain his actions, and an opportunity to show whatever regret—if any—he has in his soul."

"You won't permit it?"

"I won't, no." After a pause, he added, "I can't," his tone suddenly almost pleading.

She was having none of it. "Then, _paladin_, I give him to your keeping," she growled. "Judge him and deal with him. Alive or dead, I don't want him in this keep beyond noontide tomorrow." Turning towards the Keep, she stopped after a few steps and turned back to me. I was almost convinced that with a new object of wrath in Casavir, she'd sort of forgotten I was there. But her eyes bored into me, accusing me with everything I'd been and done, and I tried to not look away. "Count yourself fortunate that Casavir is a better man than a shit-heel like you ever was or could ever hope to be."

"Noted," I muttered. Casavir watched her leave, face expressionless. So I'd cost him with Lianna, but I couldn't help but be relieved that he'd saved my hide. "In coming back here," his voice deceptively soft and even, belying the barely suppressed fury in his eyes, "you are either showing yourself to be the greatest damn fool of the whole Sword Coast, or else some other purpose moves you."

I didn't talk, figuring anything I might say could provoke him to just reach for a sword and stab me. Instead, I showed him the tattoo around my wrist. He sighed deeply, the tension of anger suddenly leaving him, frustrated helplessness taking its place. "Ilmater."

"Yeah." He motioned for me to follow him towards the old tower rebuilt for the Nine, none of whom were in residence right now.

He paused, looking back over his shoulder at me. "Oh, if you wouldn't mind, I'll ask you to leave your weapons." He gave me a taut smile. "I may be a paladin, Bishop, but I'm not a fool…no matter how much you loved to tell me they're the same thing."

I suppressed a wince at that, acknowledging it was a fair hit at least. Taking my bow and quiver from my shoulder and handing over the scimitar and daggers from my belt to an irritated looking Katriona, I shrugged as if to say I had nothing more, and followed him.

Settled down at the table in the tower, I spoke up first. "Your kid…"

"…is none of your concern," he cut me off. "Don't ask again," his tone suddenly sharp, "or you'll regret it."

"Look, I didn't know."

"Does that make it any more right what you did?"

"No," I admitted. Wrong move, to ask about the baby: I'd gotten him and his protectiveness all wound up again. I recognized the glowering look in his eyes as the one he turned on someone who'd rejected whatever mercy he'd tried and was consequently about five seconds from receiving a hell of a smiting. So I decided I'd wait for him to speak up now, figuring it was safer to let him indicate where this should go.

Settled down again, he settled his features into some semblance of civility. "Very well; so, you've taken vows to Ilmater. You've been through much in ten months." His tone eased. "But I didn't get to stop in the House of Healing this last time in Neverwinter. How is Revered Brother Janneth? And his wife; is she still well after the birth of their child?"

He was clever enough to feed me a bit of truth followed by enough of a misleading tidbit to hang myself with—literally—if I didn't know better and tried to bluff him. "Janneth is fine," I answered. "His wife died almost fifteen years ago during the Wailing Death. As for the 'child', Aurraine is almost seventeen and finishing her apprenticeship with Truthspeaker Freijha's bunch; she takes her paladin's vows in Uktar. He still doesn't intend to marry again, but he has a long…ah…'friendship' with Abbess Lyra, Reverend Justiciar Oleff's second over at the Hall of Justice." I raised an eyebrow. "As you're very well aware, I'm sure."

He smiled wryly. "Very good." The wary alertness faded somewhat from him, and he leaned forward a little, resting his hands on the table. "But," he spoke up, "there are those who deal in information whom you could have consulted. And I know the man I traveled with, Bishop, as one skilled at deceit when he chose to be." His almost apologetic look at that vanished as he said defiantly, "And I _don't_ trust you."

"Wise," I said simply. "Look, you're a paladin." I managed to not say it with my old disdain, though the sarcasm had been almost an ingrained reaction. "The gods give you some kind of evil detection, I know that."

He grunted in assent. "I can sense clear evil, yes, such as the shadow reavers: even a few vibrations of it on you, now and again."

"Not after you and Lianna got together?" I asked with some interest.

He raised an eyebrow. "Not really. Tell me, how long had you planned to betray her? Did it take you a while after she set you straight that she'd chosen me, or did you plan it that very minute?"

"Betrayal, nah, I just wanted to hurt her and that seemed a good chance." I shrugged. "I wanted you to suffer as much as possible, but I didn't have any kind of actual plan. As for how long I meant you two ill…I knew about you two ever since the day you came back to our camp after apparently..." I searched frantically for a non-crude term, settling for an almost prim, "_dallying_ out in the woods."

He immediately blushed. "You…"

"Mmhm. I could tell." I was almost enjoying his embarrassment in this case—he really needed to loosen up—until I remembered that I was in the hot seat. "But you didn't pick up on the evil, eh?"

"Unformed evil without an actual clear purpose is very difficult to sense; it hides quite well. I got a bit from you now and again, but I imagined it was just you being sore about it and thinking uncharitable thoughts. Now, please think about this for a moment. A good man would have told her that he was happy for her, and he'd soon realize there were other women in the world. Even a petty man would just call her a bitch," I must have looked startled at hearing that word coming from him, "yes, I _can _say that word, and I'm sure you said and thought it quite often about her. As I was saying, a petty man would call her that, say she wasn't worthy of his time, and realize there were other women in the world. So what kind of man," his volume rising steadily, "obsesses so forcibly about one woman that he hangs around for _seven months_ after he's lost all chance of winning her, just waiting for the chance to harm her with the best strike he can find? And you wouldn't have found better to hurt her; she trusted and dared to believe in you, because she couldn't bear to think that you were beyond hope."

And just like that I had nothing to say for a good few seconds in the face of pretty obvious wrath from a rightly pissed-off husband. "You know what kind, Casavir," I finally said with a sigh. "Exactly the kind I was."

"'Was'?" he asked swiftly, the single word speaking volumes, almost daring me to deny it.

I nodded. "_Was_," I insisted. "Come on, can't you just use that detect evil or something to prove that I'm not lying?"

His eyes met mine for a moment. "Not my ordinary senses," he admitted. "But…there is a way." I shrugged, gestured for him to go on. "Paladins of higher experience and power are given the ability to sense the true nature of any being…"

"And you didn't think to use _that_?" I raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head, sighing to himself. "You still don't get it, Bishop. Just because I have the ability doesn't mean I can just _use _it. Wielding power without responsibility seduces you to evil with such ease; didn't we all learn that from Qara?"

"Well, I left before she turned on you," I muttered.

"But you knew her nature anyhow. We all did, much as we hoped she might change. My point is that for me to do this without permission, if it's not spurred by hostile acts...that it violates the sanctity of a person's soul."

It finally clicked, and for a moment the thought of what he was capable of almost made me dizzy. Not quite as alarming as the wizards who could control minds and make people into puppets, but that a paladin could actually read a person's soul like an open book…no better than rape, really, if they forced that on an innocent person.

He must have seen some flash of comprehension, because he nodded, looking almost relieved. "So you understand what you propose."

I licked my suddenly dry lips. "Yeah." The idea of having Casavir prying around in my head had me pretty damn spooked, though.

He sat silent for a few long moments. I looked at him; somehow the same man I'd loathed and wanted to kill ten months ago, but not quite the same. It was hard to describe the change in the air with which he carried himself, but a ranger always noticed differences in man or beast. He appeared to be a man now more comfortable with his own nature, but at the same time, heavier with cares. Wherever he'd been before coming back to the Sword Coast, it had touched him somehow.

Deep in thought, he idly grasped the amulet that hung around his neck for a moment, and my eyes were drawn to it. I hadn't really looked at it before. A large bear's claw, etched with silver-filled runes; that surprised me. I'd expected a holy symbol of Tyr.

I didn't recognize it as anything from this part of the world, though the symbols looked familiar from a barbarian from the far-east that I'd met in my days. "Rashemi?"

"What?" The faraway look disappeared and he flicked his gaze to me.

"That amulet. The runes look Rashemi."

"Yes. And that's all you'll get from me about it right now."

If I let myself wander mentally speculating just what they'd apparently been doing in Rashemen for seven months, I'd lose focus on the much more important matter at hand. "Fine. As for your…ah…ability. If that's what it takes to convince you…I'm game."

The hard look on his face eased somewhat. "The righteous haven't got anything to fear from it; and you wouldn't offer if you didn't believe what I'd find would be enough. That'll do for me."

"Can't say I'm unhappy about that," I admitted. "So, I guess you now want the full account of what happened to me."

He actually laughed, though at least I didn't sense any mockery in it. "You've got a lot to learn yet. No, you'll keep your secrets there, ranger. What passes between a man and his god is their business, and none of mine."

"All right. So what are you going to do with me? That was what I came back—to answer for what I did; make up for it, if you'll let me."

He gave a quick half-shrug. "So I gathered. You have two options here, Bishop. You'll need to face justice for your actions either way. You can go to Neverwinter and submit yourself to trial there. And since it involves charges of treason, your case would be tried before Nasher."

"Great." I'd be swinging on the gallows inside a tenday as an "example". Nasher didn't exactly have a history of being merciful to those accused of treason.

"You have a second choice. Lianna and I find ourselves put in the position of being tossed into the peerage." His tone made it pretty evident he found it a sort of dubious honor. "Since she's ah—_recused_ herself," he winced, "from this matter, it falls to me. And since your crimes took place here and were primarily against its citizens, as lord of the Keep, I can argue for having authority and jurisdiction to do justice in the name of Neverwinter for your case."

So now I would get actually judged by Casavir: it just got better and better. Still, between him and grim, hypocritical Nasher, not much choice. "I'll stick with you."

"Don't think it buys you anything," he warned. "I'm bound by the law. It could still mean your life if Tyr wills it so."

"I'll at least trust you to be fair in interpreting what law means," I said wryly. "Him, I don't."

"Very well. Will you give me your word that you won't try to slip away in the night?" At my questioning look, he explained. "Until I come to judgment, I can either keep you here as a guest or a prisoner. Since you had the guts to come here of your own free will, I'd prefer to see you the former. If you swear to not escape, you have the freedom of Crossroads Keep, though I ask you stay inside the walls. If not, I'll have to lock you in your room and put you under guard."

"Fair," I said with a sigh. "I swear, I'll be here come morning."

He nodded. "Your rooms are still here, with your things." He didn't say it, but I read between the lines—nobody wanted to touch my things after I'd left, probably out of dread of being tainted. "I'll inform the Greycloaks that you're not to be bothered."

"Thanks."

He rose, and polite as ever, gestured to the door. "If you'll excuse me, I've got some thinking to do."

I nodded, and he slipped out quietly, leaving me sitting there with my thoughts. Almost immediately, my mind suddenly not distracted by trying to convince him of my sincerity, the enormity of what I'd thrown myself into almost overwhelmed me. Lianna's murderous rage, and then Casavir's quietly offering me either redemption or condemnation…it was going to be a sleepless night for me. That I hadn't been killed on sight as I'd been half-resigned to had kindled a small spark of hope, and to lose that now would hurt badly. After all, Casavir had been bluntly honest: I could still be executed, and the thought of hanging sickened me, touching me with a ghastly chill.

Out of the castle by noontide, Lianna had said, alive or dead. And I had no idea which it would be. It was probably fully ten minutes before I headed out on suddenly uncertain knees into the fading warmth of what I prayed wouldn't be my last sunset.


	5. Shadow of a Doubt

_**Lianna**_

My heart stopped pounding only long after I was safe behind the iron-banded oaken door of Crossroads Keep, Marrin clutched tightly to my chest.

Too tightly; I dimly realized that she was still crying. "Shhh," I tried to soothe her fretting, holding her gently now, close to my shoulder, caressing the silky fine dark hair on her head and feeling strangely on the cusp of sobbing like a child myself.

I'd faced demons, shadow reavers, the King of Shadows himself without flinching, but somehow, the sight of Bishop sent me into panic like a rabbit before a fox. To see him standing there in _my_ courtyard…I remembered how the man I'd known had been ruthless enough, psychotic enough even, to gull me for seven months with sweet lies that I'd swallowed, thrilled to believe that even if I couldn't love him, my sincere friendship might be enough to give him heart and make him find the better part of himself.

It had been a load of stag's crap. He'd tricked me all along, biding his time like a spider with its web patiently held ready until just the right moment. I hadn't known he was capable of cold malice like that, but he'd tried to kill me and those I held dear. It had cut me deeply, but I had to give it to him: his harsh words about not getting too attached were right. I doubted I'd be stupid and trusting enough to make that mistake twice. So standing there, suddenly so keenly aware of the helpless child in my arms and how callously he held the weak and helpless in contempt, not to mention his utter hatred for Casavir, icy fear traced its way down my spine. He'd sworn himself to loathing my husband—looking at my daughter, would he see only him in her sky-blue eyes?

I'd sworn that I wouldn't give him another shot to hurt me and mine. If that meant killing him, so be it. The naïveté he'd probably been counting on had been burned away in the fires of his betrayal, and my time in the far-east.

As I walked the hall with a rapidly tiring Marrin, my thoughts turned back to Rashemen; and the things I hadn't told Casavir about it.

Maybe that was part of why Bishop now stirred such a visceral reaction of disgust in me, amplified now through a lens of greater wisdom. In him, I saw only the darker twin of my true self that I had become in those months.

I'd glossed it over when I told Casavir that being spirit-sundered had been terrible. That simplified it to the point of being almost a lie. I had woken to a haunting, gnawing emptiness inside me, without memory, without a sense even of my own being.

I hadn't told him false when I thanked the gods that he hadn't been there to see me. He would have been horrified. I'd probably been more beast than woman, robbed of the soul that gave me humanity and compassion. Even the moral compass that should have guided me in whose words I should heed was gone. I didn't know if I'd been saint or sinner. Though my tattoos indicated that at some point, I'd followed Mielikki; I didn't know if that still held true.

I was afraid who I might have been, and even more, who I might choose to become. So in my fear and pain, I showed a great deal of sarcasm and indifference to my companions. I didn't know who I could trust or listen to, so I largely kept my own counsel. It hit me now like a warhammer how very like Bishop I'd been, aloof and angry, callous and cold, and it wasn't a flattering comparison.

And yet, I'd listened to their words to me, hoping to follow some thread back to regaining some piece of sanity, and it struck me almost with nausea now to think of some of the suggestions I'd entertained seriously in my ignorance. One-of-Many had been on the edge of convincing me to trap the souls of those I slew and forge them into spirit-pieces to replace my own missing soul. I would have become like him, an undead patchwork of stolen, confused souls, and an eternal servant to the monstrous evil that had let me survive by such a high price. To thieve another's spirit was one of the greatest crimes known. The Rashemi even deemed it one of their few crimes punishable by death: Minsc had boomed out, obviously affronted, that a soul-stealer would be executed, and begged me to not do it.

I'd listened to him, and the others who objected, in the end. But for almost a tenday, I'd considered it, just to fill the aching void within me. To shed the leaden weight of emptiness, even if I wouldn't be regaining my own soul; it was so simple, so seductive. I hadn't possessed the innate disgust and horror at the idea that my true self would have automatically summoned.

And then there was Ganneyev. Grey-skinned, plain-featured, fantastically gifted in spirit magic, and even for his possessing monstrous heritage from his hag mother—maybe to spite it—he was still largely honorable and good. I could almost give a painful laugh now to think that sweet, loyal, spiritual men apparently were drawn to me like bears to honey.

Small wonder that he'd hoped to redeem me from the slough of despond and One-of-Many and Safiya attempting to draw me into a possible descent into evil. Not always great malevolence like soul-stealing or wanton slaughter; even just the petty evils, the discourtesies, disrespects, and selfish acts that shortened the path to a goal. I was ashamed now that I'd listened to them sometimes, too weary to take the longer, more righteous road.

Evildoers were wrong when they sneered at those who chose the light as pathetic. They were the ones who carried the shame of weakness, the ones who had given in to the seductive ease of evil power. More than ever now I was convinced that the hard-won good path could be followed through the storms of life only by those of great strength.

But Gann tried his best to keep the better part of me going and encourage its growth, and I was relieved that he did it in far less grating fashion than Kaelyn. And he'd fallen in love with me along the way, despite his initial prickliness and cold words; I'd sensed the turn in the air between us quickly enough. I'd eventually found some spark of attraction to him, and I had been—still was—grateful to him. His good nature inspired me, but I still held myself aloof. The reserve that made me trust nobody in full made me mercenary and paranoid enough that the thought of taking a man to my bed even just for some comfort was quickly, and vehemently, rejected. A genuine romance with all its vulnerabilities and compromises was out of the question.

But I'd wanted so badly to share the burdens with somebody. Then I'd discovered I was pregnant. I hadn't been too nauseous, so it was only when after several months of traveling that Kaelyn asked a few pointed questions about my monthly cycle after the smell of a greasy elk stew sent me racing for the woods. I'd been offended enough to tell her to shut up then realized the truth of her words. My ranger's instincts hadn't all fallen by the wayside, and I quickly recognized the signs in my body that I'd been ignoring in my blue funk. Irony, that, to have the joy of new life called to my attention by a cleric who formerly served the god of death, and now served the god of suffering; though I'd known plenty of both in the last few years.

I was immediately terrified. All I knew was that I was sharing my body with another being, and I had no idea what circumstances had caused it. Did I have a lover somewhere, searching for me even now? Was this baby the result of a foolish fling, a stupid mistake? Worse even, had I maybe been raped while caught in the midst of whatever evil had apparently been powerful enough to shatter my soul?

I didn't know who or what the father was, and consequently, what I carried inside me. Marrin could have been the spawn of a demon for all I knew, and it caused me many sleepless nights imagining all the possible and usually nightmarish scenarios. And yet even Gann, the hagspawn, had mustered the strength of spirit to overcome his dark-natured blood. So too had Neeshka, one of my dearest friends. But I still feared deeply in those days.

The child changed nothing for Gann. In his quiet way, he let me know that he'd still take me if I was willing, and be a father to the baby. He'd taken the blow well when Ylrana had healed me, and my memories of my ties to Casavir returned. I'd literally wept in relief as the knowledge of my child's conception and heritage came back to me, and also to know the woman I had been was one who had earned the love of a truly good man. So I'd told Gann that I couldn't accept his offer.

But I still carried the memory of how crushed he'd looked two months later when he'd seen Casavir in the Grinning Rat, and his soft murmur to me later of, "I might have known he'd be handsome." I'd explained to him that looks weren't what had done it. There were certainly better-looking men than Casavir in Faerûn, and even Bishop had a rugged handsomeness. It was his gentle nobility of spirit in spite of all that he'd faced and overcome that did it in the end; I'd tried my hardest to tell Gann that if things had been different, I would have gladly accepted him. Secretly, guiltily, though, I was glad that my reticence had made me keep him at arms' length all those ignorant months. I had enough near-sins from Rashemen, enough brushes with darkness, to torment myself with already. Stacking adultery against Casavir, even unknowingly, on that heap would really have done me in. Gods knew what hearing such a thing would have done to him. I was honest enough to admit that it would probably be a far worse wound than any I could ever have inflicted on him physically.

What would a paladin of Tyr think of what I'd been in those days, let alone the awful things that I'd almost done? He'd just proven to me that even in the face of danger to those he loved, his nature was so bound to his paladin's code of honor that it even compelled him to save the life of a traitor and evil bastard, just to give Bishop a chance to laugh in his face and tell him to take his offered mercy and shove it. The man might accept and forgive, but could the paladin?

I hadn't meant to be such a bitch about it. But I'd sooner see Bishop slain and answer to the gods for it than let him ever get a chance to hurt Casavir, let alone Marrin. He'd come close enough in the Vale of Merdelain. More than once in the ensuing months after my memories came back, I recalled his sinister hiss to Garius there in that shadowy chamber as he stepped out from behind one of those ugly statues: "Now remember, the paladin's _mine_." I didn't think he meant "mine" in that instance with that same dark sexual possessiveness he apparently felt for me—though frankly Bishop's soul was twisted enough that I wouldn't have put it fully beyond him—obviously he meant that Casavir was his to kill, and slowly too, I was sure.

There was that grim determination that had made me order his death. But also for Casavir to challenge my authority in front of the men I'd commanded, suddenly asserting himself where he'd always gracefully deferred before, and demanding that I give in…I couldn't. Not without losing face against all I'd faced and endured to end up commanding the Keep and holding the respect and loyalty of the men. It was more than a simple conflict of ideals; suddenly it symbolized much deeper significance. I couldn't back down without somehow implying that I was a silly, hysterical woman who needed a man's guidance, an ignorant backwoods bogtrotter who could use the helping hand of one with Neverwinter's wisdom and sophistication. Everything I was would have been implied as lesser. He might have challenged me simply as the obligation of a paladin, but in doing so, he came to represent everything I couldn't possibly yield to.

Bishop was still causing trouble for Casavir and me, this time without even a word spoken. He must have been laughing himself sick at the sight. And Crossroads Keep with the ladyship Nasher thrust on me had become a millstone around my neck again this evening.

It should have been a happy day; Marrin's naming day. Tyr watched over her now. I'd had an odd lump in my throat in the chapel, thinking that my own mother must have held me in her arms even as Casavir did for Marrin, the same words of blessing spoken over me. Not for the first time, I wished fiercely that she was here, to offer me some wisdom both as a mother and a paladin. But she'd died to save me: the demands and obligations on a paladin were extreme. And they fell on me now too by proxy.

I went to the nursery and laid a dozing Marrin in her cradle, pulling her blanket up and tucking it around her. Touching her soft cheek, crouching by her side for a few moments, I wondered how I could ever have thought she might have been the product of evil. Slipping out and closing the door quietly behind me, not looking where I was going, I literally ran into Daeghun.

"Good evening, daughter," he said with a nod. "The child is well?"

"Marri's fine," I assured him. "Sleeping like a stone just now." I smiled a little wryly. "We'll see how long that lasts." He gave a half-smile and another nod, making lithely to move past me. "Can we…talk?"

A bark-brown brow lifted in surprise. Daeghun wasn't the most talkative of fathers, and neither was I the most confiding of women. He obviously understood I was upset, so he gestured me to follow him to his room in the north wing of the castle.

As I settled down in a chair, grateful for the rag-stuffed cushion—Daeghun always had appreciated small comforts after long tendays in the woods—he looked at me expectantly. "Does this concern the argument you had with Casavir?"

"You heard?" I muttered, knowing I was blushing deep, furious pink.

"Not directly, but word travels quickly," he said, tone dry as a glass of harborgold wine. As usual, he offered nothing beyond that, no sense of what he had heard, or his opinion of the matter. Some part of me wished he'd offer some advice from a male perspective, and another part secretly hoped that he'd be angry that any man would offend his daughter. No such luck. All he did was sit patiently, waiting for me to speak my piece.

That was Daeghun as I'd ever known him since I was a girl; laconic and offering few words, but not out of a slow mind. He was keen and alert, always watching and listening to figure out the way of a situation and know best how to deal with it. He disdained those who talked too much and too cheaply; he'd actually made a few wry comments back in the day about what the likes of Bishop and Qara having a chronic inability to stop running their mouths might signify about them.

But there was economy of words, and there was the outright evasion of keeping quiet to avoid saying anything. And in my mind, he suffered from the latter condition. One thing I would credit Casavir with from the prolonged, often silent path that had been our courtship; he gave me patience to deal with those not easy with their words, but also made me recognize that there comes a point where a verbal shove might be needed. "Yes and no. I meant to ask…what might you tell me of…of Esmerelle? My mother."

Now the eyebrows really shot up. "I told you already, child. She died years ago protecting you along with Shayla."

"You told me that," I heard my voice rising but was helpless to prevent it. "But you told me nothing of _her_. You must have traveled with her for what, months, years?"

"Three years," he admitted, crossing his arms protectively over his chest.

"Does it strike you as odd that I had to find out even the simple fact that she was Tyr's own paladin from my husband, who read about her in the annals of paladin lore as a boy, instead of from a man who was her actual friend and companion?" I pressed on. "Gods curse it, Father, you hide everything from me. I don't know if the wild elves hold that too much speech is a waste, or if you believe that if you only give it time enough, someday you'll be able to speak of it."

I looked at him, at the gracefully pointed ears, the smooth, unlined windburned and tanned skin, the dark brown hair bound back in a queue with a leather thong. "You're two hundred and thirty three, and can expect probably another five centuries with luck. In case you failed to notice, I'm a human. We don't measure time as you do. I'm twenty-seven, Daeghun. I have a husband, a child of my own. I'man adult now, have been for years, and you still call me 'child'. You sit there and probably think that you have decades, centuries, to tell me, but you'll still be looking young long after I've aged and gone home to the gods. I don't have forever to wait to hear these things. If I wait as long as you want, I'll be dead long before you get around to it."

He looked stunned by the brutal cudgel of my words. "Lianna…"

"Please," my voice suddenly rough, and I felt myself tearing up. I couldn't help but be a bit embarrassed; my emotions seemed entirely off-kilter sometimes since I'd been pregnant with Marrin.

"It matters so much to you?" he asked softly, handing me a square of linen to use as a handkerchief.

"I…I tell myself maybe if I understand her, I understand myself and my own nature better. And…and maybe…she was a paladin…"

"Ah," he murmured. He settled back in his chair. "She was a paladin of Tyr, yes. She came from a merchant family of Waterdeep, and she was nineteen when I met her."

I nodded for him to continue. "And she was courageous, and kind, and fiercely loyal. All this you would expect, I imagine."

"Paladin," I said around the handkerchief with a half-sob, half-laugh. "Yeah, I'm familiar with that."

"She always put the needs of others before herself, and her duties to Tyr and to the people of Faerûn were paramount to her. We traveled together for five years, and then parted ways. I…there are a thousand things I could you of her, of her ways, her spirit. But then, I don't think you ask about that just now." He glanced at me. "As for what I believe you want to know, I told you truly when I said she didn't reveal to me who your father was. And I didn't inquire." His voice took on a sharp edge. "It _isn't_ the way of the elves to pry into private matters."

"But did she say anything?"

He sighed glumly, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. "It isn't easy for a child to hear such things about her parentage, even as an adult. Understand, this was during the Time of Troubles, when Ao cast the gods from the heavens to walk among us. It was months of utter chaos; some even thought it was a sign that the end of Toril was at hand."

I nodded, doing the calculations of my birth in Mirtul in the year following the crisis back nine months. It worked out perfectly. I hadn't really thought about it before. "Divine mages had the most difficult time, since their powers ceased to work unless they were almost within earshot of their deity's new mortal avatar." He avoided my eyes a moment, staring out the window. "What she said of the man who was your father…what little she spoke of him…was that if her paladin's abilities had still been with her, she would never have been swept away by him."

I absorbed that, looking down at my hands, wondering about what that meant. "He was evil, then."

"Perhaps she meant that, but that sort of soul-darkness is usually evident even to those without magic. More likely she meant only that with a paladin's insight, she would have seen selfishness and callousness behind his sweet words. In any case, she was skilled with the sword, with a gentle heart, but she knew very little of the ways of men and women. She'd spent most of her life away from the world devoted to training and prayer. And paladins, as you know, are given to some uncertainty in matters of the heart anyhow." He smiled sadly, resting his chin in his hand as a faraway look came over him with the memory of my mother. "I wish that our fellowship had still been together then; we had gone our separate ways almost four years before. I would have warned her. I think once her paladinhood was taken from her by Tyr's fall, she was left simply as an innocent young woman deceived by a man who spoke pretty words out of a desire to lie with her, and who left once he'd taken what he wanted."

"Poor woman," I murmured. At least I'd known what Bishop was: he was the kind who'd use a woman and throw her away once he was satisfied. But I remembered how Casavir had been. Even discounting his natural shyness, his years cloistered away in the temple of Tyr, as he so readily admitted, had made him terribly naïve about romantic matters and led him to tragedy with Ophala. If my mother had been like that, left without the guidance and grace of her god, she might well have been led to a different disaster and been seduced by a man with charm and no substance.

"It means nothing," Daeghun said with a sudden fierceness, his moss-green eyes shining fiercely. "Whoever he was, you're not his."

"No. He was my sire—but you're my father," I reassured him. "You have been ever since I was three years old, in every way that matters." He'd done well. I didn't begrudge him his job raising me: he'd looked after me when I was ill, taught me right from wrong, protected me. But still, some wistful part of me knew he'd been more mentor than parent, and imagined that other little girls had grown up with a father whose idea of showing affection was also one of laughter and warmth; not just demonstrating the best way to dress a deer or eight uses for burdock leaf. I desperately wanted that happiness for Marrin.

I could have sworn a dull hint of crimson appeared along the lines of his cheekbones at my words. "I meant that you're Esmerelle's daughter; you have her look, and your nature is much like hers."

"Not enough. I wouldn't have just screamed at my husband for acting as a paladin in front of the entire Keep if I had a paladin's soul." Did that explain anything about Rashemen; perhaps that without the better nature of my own soul to guide me, in my more atavistic state, had a more sinister heritage come forward? But at least I could comfort myself with the thought that my true self had returned and was in control.

"I didn't say you were a paladin," he corrected, waving a hand dismissively. "Though I think you could easily have been, if you'd had more experience with their kind instead of learning the ways of the wilderness. You have their nobility and concern for others." A corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile. "Else why were you drawn to a paladin as a lover instead of to your fellow ranger?"

"Because my 'fellow ranger' is a self-centered heartless backstabbing asshole," I snapped. "The only things he loves are blood and gold…no, not even gold. He's just a man who wants to see the world burn. I can't believe he had the nerve to show up here as if nothing had happened. And it took so long not because I was really torn between them, but because Casavir apparently had some strange masochistic obligation to keep quiet and keep me frustrated for months so he didn't use his exalted paladin status to influence my feelings."

He actually chuckled at that. "I told you even then I was glad of your choice. I was concerned that you might choose the ranger, shallow as his charms are…"

"And be my mother's daughter in more ways than one," I finished, shaking my head with a sigh.

"When she came to West Harbor months later, she told Shayla and me that she was putting up her sword and settling down for her child's sake. It would have been too difficult to raise a baby by herself and still be called to serve the people of this land as a paladin, so her order had permitted her to retire with the understanding that she might be recalled in direst need. But know this, _am tinu_. Despite your origins, she never regretted your birth. She loved you fiercely. She fought with courage in that last battle, but when the moment of decision came, she chose to protect you, not to destroy her enemies."

I let that sink in for a few seconds then honed in on his earlier words. "So there comes the problem. Bishop liked to try to torment Casavir by suggesting that loving me would make him fall from grace. I think he was just being an ass, but there may be some truth to it. I don't know if a paladin can truly devote their heart both to duty and to love without shortchanging one or the other. And I don't want to be seen as the anchor that weighs him down from his purpose, rather than the one that helps keep him at safe harbor."

"He chose to accept you and all that went with it."

"Yes. But those were times we had to live only for the day. I wonder if he regrets it now. After all, a divided soul tears you apart." I laughed, but it was a painful, shaky sound. "Gods know that I understand that, though in a different sense. But Marrin and I can't always be second place to Tyr and the needs of the entire Sword Coast. I didn't marry a symbol, I married a man."

He shook his head, with a bemused expression. "Daughter, am _I_ the one you should ask about this?" He reached out, took my hand for a moment, clasping it in his, which surprised me. Daeghun had never been easily affectionate. About the best I could have expected was a word of praise for a job well done. "You tell me to not leave things unsaid because I believe I have longer than I do in truth. Now I'll give you the same advice, Lianna. Those you love may be taken from you on the morrow. I found that with Shayla. Love is too precious a thing, maybe too short, to waste even a sunset lost to anger."

He said the name of his wife still with some pain, but of late, he seemed to be spending a great deal of time in Elanee's company. Elves carried less wanderlust than humans and so carried their homes next to their hearts, and of course their memories as ran long as their years. And they'd both lost their homes and those they'd loved. To see them together, those two followers of Silvanus, maybe just as friends, maybe as more…it made me glad of it.

I couldn't help a smile at that. "Aye," I said finally. "You're right there. He's a reasonable man, and all we've endured already didn't break us. This won't do it—I won't let it." He let go my hand with one last clumsy, reassuring pat. "So, tell me of you and Elanee," I coaxed.

He shot me a wary look. "Children shouldn't inquire about their parents like that," he warned.

"Come on." I lightened my tone, gave him a teasing smile. "You made free critiquing _my _romantic possibilities from the time I was fifteen and you noticed I didn't look like a child any longer. Bevil was too much my brother, Merring wasn't serious enough, and I seem to remember you swore you'd sooner see me wed to a wolverine than one of the Mossfelds. As for more recent possibilities, I think you referred to Sand as a 'mincing long-haired city-reeking pampered moon elf', and Bishop as 'that rabid cuager-cat who I half expect to find pissing to mark his territory'. Casavir was…ah, I've got it now, 'a man who doesn't know whether to worship or desire you.' So if Elanee Iliestas is maybe going to be in our family and I'll be seeing her for Yule and Highharvesttide and such," he let out a suppressed grunt of surprise at my stating it, "I have a right to know where things are."

A myriad of emotions crossed his face. "She and I are…friendly," he said at last. Elven and male understatement, as usual: I was wise enough from years and a woman's insight now to translate that little phrase as "I love her."

"She'll be back in a few tendays, you know." She'd gone to scope out the state of the Mere in the months since the shadow had been lifted. Though having one who used to follow my commands as a stepmother might be interesting. At least I didn't have the awkward state of some women of having a father chasing a woman my own age, or younger: Elanee was fully a hundred and ninety-eight. She was still obviously younger and lighter-hearted than Daeghun in some ways. But our long journeys had given her greater seriousness…as they had for us all. "She's a good woman. And unfortunately she too knows all too well what it is to lose both kin and home."

"Aye, perhaps. Though she's a druid," he said with a slight, thoughtful smile. "I don't think she'd approve of my setting out trap lines. Hunting for survival is one thing, but I can imagine her in wrath over the matter of pelts. I have no desire to be polymorphed into a mink or a carp."

"But you could shift yourself right out of it."

"Yes, but that's not the point."

"Compromise is part of the deal," I said lightly, trying to chase off the worry I had about trying to talk to Casavir and coming to terms with all that implied. "And my home's always open to you. You needn't trap to make a comfortable living. Take another path, perhaps, and a new start?" I shook my head, grimacing. "I have to think it may be best that we leave West Harbor in the past, where it belongs. We shouldn't ever forget them and what they meant to us, but…maybe it's time we let the dead rest easy with Kelemvor, instead of calling their ghosts to us."

"You may have the right of it."

"Take a dose of your own advice, now. Life is too short to waste time and let those you love slip through your fingers. Talk to her when she gets back."

I stood, put my hand on his shoulder for a moment. "He should be done dealing with Bishop by now. I should go find him and get matters settled." Leaning down, I kissed him on the cheek. "So, g'night, _atar_."

"Good night, Lianna." As I made to leave, Rollo, Daeghun's silver fox companion, slipped through the crack in the door and bounded onto the arm of Daeghun's chair.

I felt the insistent mental nudge of him trying to mind-speak to me. Unlike with Falyris, permission had to be given to open up conversation with another's animal companion. For a ranger or druid, or anyone capable of animal speech, to attempt to force a mind-bond upon the bonded companion of another without mutual agreement was a grave offense. "Yes?"

"Looking for Cas, _ilannaak-panik_?" Rollo said, ears twitching and eyes half-closed with pleasure as Daeghun scratched him at the ruff.

"Aye. You've seen him?" That would save me time wandering the whole of the Keep looking for him. I'd half-expected he'd be down in the church making his evening prayers.

"Heard him, in with the kit. Looks sad." He thought for a moment. "So, she's _ilannaak-panik-panik? _Makes head hurt."

"_Ilannaak-innkutak_." I gave him the correct form for a companion talking about the granddaughter of one's bonded.

"Head still hurts," he complained.

"Poor thing," I thought with a laugh, giving his ears a quick tousle.

"How about Ella—maybe _ilannaak-nuliak_?" Rollo asked me slyly. "Talk to him about that?"

"Yeah," I thought back, trying to keep from smiling. "We'll see when she returns. Thanks; I've got to go now."

Daeghun's squawk of surprise followed me out as I closed the door behind me—obviously Rollo, with his fox's curiosity, was getting nosy about his bonded's potential mate. Bishop _had_ been right about one thing: animals were honest about relationships, and in the case of sentient companions, they were unusually astute too. Falyris had pestered me for several months about Casavir while he and I were still busy caught in an endless cycle of doubts and things unsaid.

Moving back to the west wing and Marrin's nursery nearby the quarters Cas and I shared, I hesitated as I approached the half-open door, hearing the sound of him quietly singing.

He had a splendid voice, deep, rich, and resonant. It kept a few rough edges since he hadn't trained as a bard to fully bring out its potential, but he might well have missed another potential calling there. A few times I'd even heard him sing something other than the Tyrran hymns of battle and worship. Moving into the doorway, I saw he had his back to me, kneeling at her cradle with his crossed arms resting on its edge, singing to our daughter.

"_Arudhr neh y mewyll,_ _echod rael asiffehr di…_" I didn't know the translation, or the tune, but the words were Khymrian, the language of the northwestern reaches of Neverwinter, of the Iron Shore where he'd been born. In song too, he still kept a trace of the lilting accent that he'd long ago trained out of his speech. "_Hanno un dros ewyest,_ _onel theg y non..." _

I stood in silence, letting him finish, wondering if his parents had sung that to him in those too-short years before they'd died. As the last notes faded, he looked over his shoulder at me. "Good evening, my lady." With one last glance down at Marrin, he kissed her gently on the forehead and got to his feet. "She was waking when I came in, so I thought I'd try to send her back to sleep."

I moved closer to him, looked down at her. "Looks like it worked."

"Aye." We stood in tense silence for what seemed an eternity while our daughter slept with the peace of the happily ignorant between us.

I sighed, nodded. It looked like it was up to me to start. "Whatever I might have said…"

He cut me off, which was extremely unusual with as innate as courtesy was to him. "When you called me 'paladin', you sounded just like him," the hints of anger and hurt in his voice cutting me deeply. "He never could use my name because he never saw me as anything more. I didn't deceive you as to what I was, not from the moment we met. And I thought you knew me better than to reduce me to just that."

"I know. But you made me look useless with how high-handed you were." The stone walls suddenly seemed oppressive, and I had no desire to discuss this with him with Marrin sleeping only a few feet away. "I remember a man once told me that there's a price to being a leader of men—one that paladins knew all too well. The people need to be able to believe and keep their courage, and so no matter the cost, a leader has to hide his doubts and show strength for the sake of others." He gave a rueful smile of acknowledgement at that. "Let's have the Greycloaks see the lord and lady of the Keep going to take a pleasant walk together, so they can believe everything's well again."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you think that it won't be well again?"

"No. After everything we went through, I'm not going to let a man who's no better than the crap dug out of the middens break us apart."

He nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "You should know," he began. "He came here to apologize…and to surrender to whatever punishment falls upon him for what he did."

That was news, and I was honestly struck speechless for a good ten seconds over it. "Another of his games?" I managed.

"No, I didn't sense it. And he wears Ilmater's marks now around his wrists. Think about it: the man we knew wouldn't let anything that permanent be put on him, even as a deceit to accomplish an end."

"You're kidding. He's actually turned it around; so what happy event caused that?" I honestly couldn't think of anything that would move him enough. Certainly not reason or love or gold or tears: he didn't care enough about any of them. And yet, much as I hated him for what he'd done, a little piece of me was pleased to hear that even if I hadn't done it, apparently he'd got over himself enough to realize that he could be something more. It seemed as though we who hadn't fled weren't the only ones who'd been on a journey since the last stand ten months ago.

"I didn't ask, and I don't intend to. Look, it's not my business—or yours—to know what might have happened between him and Ilmater. The point is that I think his change is genuine." His eyes met mine. "That is, if you trust my judgment on it." It was definitely a question.

"Yes." I meant it.

He reached out a hand for mine, and I took it. "Then we have more to discuss there, but put Bishop aside for a while; we have more important things first. Let's go for that walk, you and I."


	6. The Lives of Others

_**Casavir**_

After we had a few sharp words and decided to literally take it outside, Lianna called up Falyris. A minute or less and the great eagle perched on the windowsill with a rustling _crack_ of folded wings, her formidable talons scraping against the stone as she settled down comfortably.

I had the sudden paranoid feeling that they were discussing me. Too bad I understood none of it, even though I'd found one interesting small residual effect from my time under Okku's favor in the wild magic of Rashemen, one that both of them were aware of. After returning to the Sword Coast I found that I'd gained the ability of animal speech without needing a spell or enchantment as I had before. Not that it was of much use in this case: all I picked up was a faint hum that told me they were talking. Animal companions were exempt from ordinary wildspeech unless they allowed you in.

I tried to not look too interested, though I might well be insulted in several different tongues; Lianna had a colorful way of expressing herself at times, and had a keen interest in language in general. Actually, the first time I saw something more in her expression when she looked at me and saw something beyond a tarnished paladin, quite convenient swordsman, and overall strange mountain semi-hermit had been when I'd shown her a few orcish curses and threats I'd picked up at Old Owl Well just to pass the time around the campfire.

I distinctly recalled teaching her "_Yac thaz uthumh brak, akhavosh!_" Not precisely romantic words, "I'll splinter your bones, rabbit-blood!", but they'd apparently stuck in her mind more than any gentle and courteous words I'd offered in the beginning. The orcs in this part of the Sword Coast called humans _akhavoshi_, "rabbit-bloods". That was due to the fact they viewed us on the whole as small, pale, cowardly and fleet-footed in retreat, and frankly, as one injured orcess had explained to me with the huffing hiss that was orcish laughter, because compared to other races, humans bred children just as swiftly as rabbits.

But hopefully Lianna wasn't thinking of splintering my bones just now. Apparently that wasn't the topic, since she explained soon enough that Falyris had agreed to nanny for us for a little while, watching Marrin and giving Lianna a mental shout if anything went amiss.

"I trust her more than I would most people," Lianna said a little defensively, giving me a hard look as if daring me to insult her bonded companion. "And we shouldn't just leave her alone unsupervised."

"Of course," I agreed. With an almost lazy hop, Falyris moved to the back of a chair to have a better view of Marrin. The cushioning probably felt better against her feet, and if the brocade ended up shredded, I wasn't too concerned. Rangers had their priorities, and the eagle came far before the upholstery; I happened to agree with that assessment.

I gave Falryis a mental nudge, and she answered, not really looking at me. "Yes, _ilanaak-ittuk_?" My formal title as her bonded's husband, instead of my name: well, that put me in my place. They'd obviously discussed it, and the eagle was taking sides, naturally.

"Come on, 'Lyris," I pleaded. "This isn't your argument. Thanks for watching Marrin was all I wanted to say."

"Make her cry, I rip out liver," she threatened, cocking her head to fix me with a gimlet golden stare from one eye.

"Right." I didn't doubt she meant it, or that she was capable. In days gone by I'd seen her almost break a man's neck with the sheer force of her stoop, and her talons in his throat certainly finished the job.

"Humans," she grumbled, fluffing her feathers out in irritation as I turned to leave, giving one last look at Marrin to make certain she was all right.

I held the door and followed Lianna. We paused in our quarters to grab light summer cloaks, and headed out into the twilight. We nodded pleasantly to the Greycloaks at the gate. She even let me put an arm around her as she announced we were headed out for an evening stroll: all a very pleasant act, but she'd been correct. Their faces eased to see that apparently things were well between us.

"Sir?" Katriona said, holding up a hand to stop me a moment. "Ah…as for Bishop?"

I thought for a moment how to word my thoughts with some kind of precision. Ambiguous orders too easily led to disaster. "He can roam the grounds as he pleases, and tell the 'Cloaks they're to leave him alone. Let us know if he makes trouble, though," meaning that if he rubbed their noses in his untouchable status, I wanted to know. "But if they find him trying to leave, they have authority to do anything necessary to stop him."

"No restraint placed on the amount of force?" She sounded surprised.

"None; if they have to kill him to prevent an escape, so be it." I heard Lianna's swift intake of breath next to me. I believed him when he said he wouldn't run, but there was always the possibility. And if he'd put on an act again, his deceptions were improving even more. That coupled with the man he'd proven himself ten months ago would be truly too evil to let live: not with my wife still with me, and him aware that we had a child now.

"Aye, sir," she said with a nod. "I'll tell 'em."

I hesitated, stepped closer to her and lowered my voice a moment so Lianna didn't hear. "And Kat, keep a few of our best near Marrin's door tonight. If he tries to get past them, he dies. I'll answer for it if I have to." Even with giving him a chance to prove himself a new man, I was taking no chances when it came to my daughter's life.

Gravely she looked at me with her grey eyes, and nodded. I knew she'd carry out the order. Putting back to normal volume, I continued. "And I'm well aware there's some ill feeling against him. I don't want any sort of vigilante justice. He's under the protection of Tyr, so let them know that if I find him dead or even injured, they'd better be prepared to face me and a truth-seeking spell so I know what happened." I gave that a little while to sink in and deliberately made my next words lighter. "Now, after you do that, take some time, Katriona; your watch is almost done and you and Bevil have a wedding to discuss."

She smiled at that. "Very well." I'd been aware of her love for me those months in the mountains, and I'd been honest and told her that I couldn't return the sentiment. A downcast man without much desire for life makes for a poor lover. She took it well, though of course true feelings can't just stop overnight, and I felt like a pile of horse-crap every time I picked up on the longing still in her words and looks. But at least she was happy now: more than I could say for Lianna. She just might beat Falryis in trying to tear out my liver.

We walked a good mile without words as our eyes adjusting to the dusky purple twilight, the only sounds the rustle of grass under out boots, the night singing of the cicadas and the unidentified rustles in the bushes. I had to keep restraining myself from casting mage-light and demanding to know who was there. Years of living in constant danger took their toll in making a man constantly, sometimes excessively, vigilant even when there was nothing to fear. I still didn't like that the only weaponry I carried was a pair of daggers, weighted for throwing, at my belt.

She cleared her throat just as I heard the Sweetspring River burbling in the distance, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the solid, gnarled trunk of a beech tree. "So I'm curious. Let's put you in the classic scenario so many evil creeps seem to love sticking heroes in. You know the sort: hellsbent on destroying things as that sort always is. He somehow captures Marri and I—don't think I'd go meekly, but this is a hypothetical. And you have the choice to bargain with him and save our lives or try to take your best opportunity to kill him and save the world at large. What would you do?"

I stared at her, confused. "If I submitted to someone who then destroyed everything you and I just fought so long to save? You wouldn't love me well for that."

"True," she admitted. "So, that's my answer?"

"No, it's not. Damn it, will you stop mistaking me for Ammon Jerro!"

"You weren't an evil warlock last I knew." Though I'd never been there, I had to imagine the parched sands of Mulhorand were as dry and stinging as her voice was just at that moment.

"I don't have patience for you sniping at me just now," I said curtly. "That you should ask me that question…there are some who'd take pretty grave offense at the implications."

"Fine. Sorry I offended the vaunted Tyrran paladin honor. What's my penance?" I struggled to not snap back in reply, knowing that if the anger threatening to surface managed the job, we'd be right back where we were in the courtyard, but even worse. She made a faint noise of irritation, reaching a hand out halfway to me and stopping herself. "Look, I'm sorry. That was a lousy thing to say. But what in the hells do you mean about you and Ammon? You two avoided each other like lepers."

"He understood that sometimes victory requires sacrifice. He gave everything he had in the fight, and I honor that courage. But he went too far. He made others pay the price as well to serve his ends, and I can't do that—I won't. A person's life isn't mine to bargain with, save my own. So to answer you, in all honesty…I refuse in general to treat with him because it's dishonorable and I would be bound by my word to him once I gave it. I do my utmost to rescue you and Marrin and then turn all my efforts to the defeat of the Evil Flavor of the Year to save the country. If it's my only choice and I know his word binds him as it does me, I'll freely offer my life in return for your safety." I shrugged, letting her see it. "I'm not sure what you're really asking. Let's not run in circles around the matter."

"Are you my husband or are you a paladin?" she said it bluntly.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I might have known this would come." That still didn't mean I was confident of saying the thing properly. "I'm not surprised that it's now, after what passed in the courtyard. Do you want to sit? This isn't exactly a short conversation."

She nodded, settling down gracefully against the tree trunk. As I sat down beside her, I couldn't help but remember the last time we'd talked like this alone in a tree's shade. A year and a half gone now, and another time she'd demanded to know where I stood. I could only hope this time would end half so pleasantly as that afternoon under the linden. "Looks like a storm," she commented, glancing up at the sky. "We should be watchful there."

"You're better at those things than I am. So, you're asking me to swear to my priorities."

"I'd like to know," a slight catch in her voice, and it struck me that as unsettled as I was, she was equally afraid of what she might hear.

"I realize you might not have met much in the way of paladins. In fact, from how you acted around me when we met, I'm almost certain of it." She'd looked at me as though she was just waiting for me to start preaching about damnation and scowling at any instances of jests or lightheartedness.

"There wasn't ever much trouble in the Steelfire Swamps. We handled stuff with the lizardfolks ourselves, and a few bandits too dumb to realize there was nothing worth thieving. No cause for paladins to find adventure, and West Harbor was off the beaten track for those on journeys."

"I've told you a bit, but probably not everything I should have. There were always more pressing concerns, and I didn't think we'd have enough—" I stopped myself before I admitted just yet I'd never imagined we'd have a future past confronting the King of Shadows. "It's…a difficult life, full of danger and uncertainty. A paladin who follows any of the Triad, since we're traditionally first into the fray, can usually count himself gods-blessed lucky to reach thirty. Most never marry, or have children, unless they survive their days in the field. The exceptions come from families that run deep with paladins, and usually they wed another paladin in the same situation." I smiled a little sadly. "More dynastic alliances of duty than romances, truly: that way they might have hopes of a child or two to carry on the blood before they're probably killed."

"A little grim, Casavir."

"Aye. They have regrets, I'm sure, but their duty to lord and land always comes first. They rest easier knowing that the child will be raised by a temple of their god or a stronghold of their order in the way of paladins."

"Not as long as I'm alive," she said with a sudden vehemence, sitting up straighter. "She's _my _daughter."

I shook my head, resting a hand against the tree and searching for the words. "I don't come from centuries of paladin blood, Lia. Even as small children they always seem so very certain; their path is all laid out for them from cradle to grave. Perhaps that's why I always struggle so with what it means to be a paladin: I came to it from outside. Accepting things has never been easy for me. And the first families may be so used to growing up as orphans that the hardship of it falling on their own children is nothing compared to the call of duty." I looked at her, at the gleam of her green eyes as they caught the last of the fading light. "But it bothers _me_."

"I know she was a surprise, and maybe you didn't have to think about this before." She laughed softly. "I was shocked too, though I guess on some level I knew that the herbs I was taking aren't foolproof."

I didn't ask if she was taking them again. It wasn't a subject that we'd discussed yet, since we hadn't slept together since the night we'd conceived Marrin. By the time we found each other again, even aside from her being seven months gone with child, things seemed difficult enough for her as a result of whatever stresses in Rashemen that left darkness and distance in her expression when she thought I wasn't looking, that I didn't think suggesting sex was exactly a prudent idea. And since Marrin's birth, of course, she needed time to heal and recover. But at the rate I was apparently progressing deeper into the realms of her ill humor, I might well be lucky if we ever shared a bed to do anything but sleep yet this year.

"Let me be honest. I never thought much about where my priorities were when we traveled together. I told you that I would give up being a paladin for you if need be, and I meant it, but I never planned on seeing any of this. I didn't tell you, couldn't bear to, but I thought that our time was only until the final battle. I was so certain that I would be called upon to give my life to protect you that I couldn't imagine it otherwise. I meant it seriously enough that my saying it to Garius was my offer to the gods. I don't know if you heard the last spell that I cast, when it seemed hopeless."

She fiddled idly with the jadestone leaf-and-star pendant at her throat for a moment, tracing the ridged edges. "Only a little, I'll be honest. There was so much happening all at once. We were all beat up badly: Zhjaeve was dead by then, Elanee was trying to keep herself alive, and you were wounded and already carrying more than your share of the fight, so our healing was pretty much out of commission. I was pretty busy just then asking Mielikki to provide some divine healing for us. But your song seemed to spur us on, as I remember: a call to the gods for courage, you mean?"

"No." I looked down at my hands for a moment, recalling the preternatural calm that had come over me as I had begun the incantation and resigned myself to the hands of the gods. "It's the call for Tyr to give strength to myself and my allies, by offering my life-force to use for it."

"Wha—" She sat bolt upright, shaking her head in denial.

"Divine Sacrifice is too dangerous a spell to use except as a last resort when it might turn the tide. It weakens you steadily with each attack, and it only ends when either you or your foe is dead. And so it's been the death-song for many paladins."

"But it's awfully cheerful for…" The joke died as the words caught in her throat, and she reached out to grasp my hand. She held on so tight that it was as if she had to reassure herself I was still with her. "Gods, Cas," she whispered. "That..." She stopped for a moment. "That's why you made me swear to go on without you, isn't it?"

I tried to explain, though as strange as her ranger's ways were to me sometimes, mine must have been likewise. "It's a song of joy because a paladin can have the honor to lay down his life for his friends, and because death means that he's rewarded by being taken into the embrace of the gods. I don't fear death, Lianna. Not then…and not now." I reached out, took her other hand in mine. "But I've learned from you that there's no fear in life either."

I told her a little of what I'd heard from the gods in that space after. "So I was wrong. It wasn't my duty to die that day, and they all agreed upon that." I shook my head. "Even the likes of Cyric and Shar argued for my life, which surprised me. Torm was pleased that I was willing to sacrifice my life for our mission. He wasn't wrong: I'd have died for our cause. But…I would have also died for _you_, for your life alone. And I can't help but think that as much as I hate that I wasn't with you, I ended up with the Chukthal for a reason."

"Aye, well…you wouldn't have liked what you saw were you with me," she murmured.

"What of it?" She said with almost a tone of shame, and I couldn't help but wonder what she had done in Rashemen that she had refused to discuss it.

"I'll get to it. But you first."

"All right. For over twenty years now I've known only paladin's ways, and it's as austere as I've told you. What little I knew of love was tragic: Aribeth and Fenthick, myself and Ophala. All I had of family was the few dim memories from when I was a boy. And even for you and I, what romance we had was already battle-worn. I think you and I both know that as deep as we were caught in it, the fight always had to come before each other."

"You're right. I had to always be the Knight-Captain first; and you the paladin. It never seemed enough, what little we had together." She sighed, reaching out and touching my face with a soft caress. "Still, I treasure those moments."

"I do as well." I reached up to clasp her hand in mine again; there was strength in its reassuring warmth and a reminder of my promises to her as we joined hands on another day that now bound me tightly as paladin's vows. "I had no cause to debate my priorities before the final battle, and little in the way of love and family to compare to if I had. And then I found the Rashemi up in the mountains. Six months I spent with them, and they took me into their home and their tribe. And for the first time that I truly recalled, I lived just as a man, saw what it was like."

It had been an odd change from the deference I was accustomed to as a paladin, and even as leader of the partisans in the Sword Mountains. Quite the opposite: they actually had wanted to assign me to the ranks of the _idroshye_: past the age of _dajemna_ but unblooded in battle, and so unable to wed or be counted as fully an adult. My short hair probably confused them, because after a first victory, both men and women of many Rashemi tribes only cut their hair after defeat. I tended to think that was in part to defy their former Thayvian masters who shaved their heads as a sign of status. Vladisar, whom I had fought, had his hair almost to his waist, copper talismans and feathers woven into his braid to represent his deeds. The sight of my numerous war-scars in the firelight seemed to change their mind, as did my fighting skills. After that, they agreed to confer the status of _navroshye_, a full warrior, on me, before even hearing my battle tales or that I did in fact have a wife.

Still, warrior or no, I was expected to carry my weight. And so with that expectation, they drew me in to their circle. What little hunting was done in winter I gladly went along for: there wasn't as much use for archery in the mountains, so my lousy far-vision at the extreme range of a longbow wasn't a problem. I could handle a spear well enough—the claw amulet they gave me came as an honor for my role in a winter bear hunt. Even less dangerous pursuits were my responsibility, though: maintenance of the campsite, watching the children, preparing food, offering some entertainment or words of wisdom at evening gathering, and such. Everybody took their turn; even Ramis, the shamaness, and Johorrahl, the war chief. To them, I was simply Eretisar, "sundowner", the _yennisdrant _from the western sunset lands, tall and pale and strange, but still just a man and warrior of their tribe.

The more I turned myself to the ordinary life with my new kin, the more I found it surprisingly suited me. I wondered now what some of the Chukthal might have thought to see me looking over at the hearthfires of married couples at the simple love and laughter, or at the children I sometimes had the care of while their parents had other work to do. I'd looked first at this way of life with curiosity, and then probably with clear longing. Gods, no wonder some of the young women had formed mistaken thoughts and figured they'd be happy to help me gain that life for myself by offering to keep me company at night.

"I envied them their lives, even as I knew that kind of idyll was just a winter phenomenon. Rashemen is in a constant state of war, after all. Some of the warriors I can call kin might be dead even now in this summer's battles against the Thayvians and others. It's a risk, but they appreciate what life they're given. And I do as well."

Peace and family: everything I realized over that long winter that I so deeply hungered for so many years of loneliness and violence. Small wonder now that I'd been so eager to see Lianna again and share that revelation with her, but in the midst of everything in Mulptan and afterwards, I'd lost the words to say it.

What I'd been searching for so long, what had seemed a vast, unfathomable ocean, now suddenly was clear as rainwater. Tyr's symbol of scales was appropriate; for there to be justice and fairness in the world, there had to be balance, things happening in proper measure and time. Straying to one extreme or the other just meant lurching into chaos and disaster. I'd known for a long time that a paladin had to tread a fine middle ground: punishment and mercy, rhetoric and swords, war and peace, deference and defiance, leadership and service. In Rashemen I finally figured out that there was another aspect of equilibrium that I had too long thought was impossible: a paladin's duty and a human's heart.

As a paladin I easily found peace in Tyr's grace. But as a man I'd tried to find solace in temples and taverns, in cities and in the countryside, in the cloud-touching reaches of the Sword Mountains and the salt-smelling shores of the Docks Ward of Waterdeep, and came to realize that the place didn't matter; I found my home in Lianna.

"So you ask me where you stand with me. You don't have need to worry, Lia. The Merciful Sword pretty much told me that after my actions in the Shadow War, and with a wife, a child, and a lordship to worry about, I've been placed in the reserves. That isn't to say that should another crisis arise I'm not obliged to go into the field again—I don't see you sitting idly in that case either—and things on the lands of Crossroads Keep and nearby _are _always going to be my concern. And I'm still held to a paladin's conduct and honor no matter what. But I shouldn't be called away just to go mop up the fell beasts out threatening faraway settlements. That's for the young pups. It'll be good training for 'em anyhow," I added with a chuckle.

"'Young pups'? You're not a greybeard yet."

"I'm old enough for a paladin," I said wryly. "But aside from that, I can't let you suffer for my sake. You and Marrin are my personal responsibility, and that takes priority over my being a paladin and looking out for the general welfare. I worried about it when I knew that I saw to your safety first, but I understood that I accepted this path and all that it meant when I promised to love you."

"And if it comes down to a choice that in fulfilling your duty to me, it causes you to fall?"

I closed my eyes for a moment. Trust her to ask the hard question. "You said that you wouldn't expect me to commit evil to save you, but you never know until the situation stares you in the face. And even in the case of simple priorities, if I chose the paladin's duties and forget about my responsibilities to you and our daughter, that means I'm making innocents suffer for my sake—and that's an evil I can't commit. I keep my promises, Lia, no matter what they cost me. If it means I answer to Tyr for it, that's my price to pay, and I'll do it. I can still serve him nonetheless, but there'll never be another I love as I do you. Living as I did, seeing what it can mean…I would have kept my word and put you as my first concern anyhow, but now…I want it that way."

"I don't mean to sound so hard about it. I—mainly, I needed to know that if I mess up, where your loyalties lay: if you'd forgive me as a man or condemn me as a paladin."

"Lianna." I reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "What happened to you in Rashemen?" I felt her flinch. "No, please. Whatever it is…it can't be worse than you fearing my judgment and me fearing your silence."

She still didn't speak up, but I heard the rapid quickening of her breathing. I finally ventured, "All right, let me try. Causing annihilation of an entire village?" I really hoped not. Ammon and Bishop had cornered the market there, after all.

"No." Sounding a little calmer, she finally began to explain. I didn't speak up for fear that if I stopped her, she might refuse to continue.

It wasn't as bad as I had begun to imagine from her strange silence about it. Yes, there were some small evils she'd committed, but she'd also done acts of kindness, and she obviously intensely regretted what darkness she'd allowed herself to be talked into while vulnerable. Once she'd regained herself, she'd insisted on trying to make some amends where possible. She seemed to fear more the things she had considered doing, but held herself back from.

I wasn't surprised that the hagspawn had loved her; she wasn't difficult to feel for, after all, even Bishop's heart had been stirred. I'd known it even from the two tendays I'd spent in his company while our band journeyed to Ylrana, the _hathran_, to be sent back to the Sword Coast. I'd seen how Ganneyev looked at her, the awkwardness, the unsuppressed longing. Those who'd loved without hope knew the signs too well: in him, I might as well have been looking at a mirror-spirit of myself less than two years before. He asked me to treat her as she deserved the night before we left, and I'd sworn I would.

She had some obvious regrets, but more than that I picked up on a sense of fright for those lonely, dark months and what she might have been capable of. She'd had to face this struggle by herself. Her terror of my status as a paladin made some more sense now. A double edged blade: she had admitted that she worried that I might judge her someday for her actions. I tended to doubt that the woman I knew would ever be capable of anything evil enough without first condemning herself.

Though what she left unspoken suddenly became clear to me. She might not even have been able to call it by name herself, and so she only spoke up about worries regarding my judgment of her actions. In the years I'd spent in the wilds, I hadn't been actually stripped of my spirit and my memory as she had, but the broken soul inside of me after I believed myself fallen had been something I could barely face. I had been Aribeth's only apprentice, and after Harcus, I'd thought for a little while that I should accept what people had whispered openly for years: that I was no better than I ought to be, the ill-fated pupil of a tragically fallen master. I too had considered some dangerous, dark acts at first because it hardly seemed to matter with as stained by evil as I believed I was.

But I'd been through that hardship, and the next years of guilt and grief, in solitude as well. And she had helped bring me out of it at last. I didn't know if I could have done it without her. She hadn't been so fortunate. It may not have been my fault that I wasn't by her side, but the damage was done anyhow: she'd been forced to face her own time of trial alone. And after enduring that sort of suffering by herself, she probably now had deep and justified concern that I might be careless with her heart, and Marrin's, in favor of fulfilling obligations to others first.

Trying to put some order to my jumbled thoughts, I was surprised when she touched my hand. "Cas? You've got some kind of spell to take a look at my soul, right?"

I couldn't help the look of surprise on my face, even if she couldn't see it. She didn't know Bishop had asked about it, but apparently people were quite interested in their spiritual status this evening and my ability to discern it. "Yes."

"Then take a look," she offered, giving me a nervous smile, her hand suddenly tense in mine. "If anyone can tell me where I stand, I guess it's a paladin."

Obviously she wouldn't rest easy until she knew for certain how her experiences had touched her. I would vouch with all my heart that evil could never stick to one like her, but my word alone wouldn't be enough. I didn't take my eyes from her, even shadow-cast as she was, while I quietly sang the words for the true sight of souls, opening my mind and heart to Tyr. "_Kamas ilta thuli, jattä miye tavi dar'sielo._"

I found no surprises. While I had never actually seen it until now, I knew the feel of her spirit so well from when we'd shared much deeper intimacies than this. But I searched as she had asked of me. I found the rough scars and unhealed wounds of pain and toil, the small eddies and ripples of shadow from dark times: marks of a life lived. Yes, there probably were more now than before.

Still, she glowed like the candles flaring in the dark of midwinter night at the Feast of the Moon; the celadon blessing from her status as one of Mielikki's chosen, and the azure of Tyr's grace from her mother at Lianna's naming and from me at our marriage.

Looking closer, I also now saw the many ties of love and trust and truest friendship that bound her soul to others; mere ephemeral wisps trailing off from her soul like simple threads, but they were bonds forged stronger than steel, stronger than death.

After I made the incantation for the counterspell to end my search, she asked, "So what do you see?" Her voice was steady.

I raised a hand to trace the familiar lines of her face, feeling the tension beneath my fingertips, the same granite-tough set to her features that she'd shown against dozens of dangers. Always in those times her emotion was shown only in her eyes. I wondered what lay in them right now as I leaned forward to kiss her. "Light," I whispered against her lips. "And love. That's all that matters."

She responded eagerly, her lips warm against mine, but afterwards she sighed deeply, her breath warm against my cheek. "All right, so you and I are on solid ground. There's still Bishop to think about."

"Hrm, should I be concerned that you're thinking about Bishop after kissing me?" I teased, brushing my fingers over her hair as I let her go.

She tossed a fallen beechnut at me in reply. "Gods almighty, I'd sooner kiss a dire boar than Bishop. They're about equally clean and well-mannered." Words to warm a man's heart, I thought with a grin. "Look, I hate talking in the dark here." With a murmur, she cast a spell for a faint mage-light, tendrils of pale green glow surrounding her hands and then expanding to a dim illumination around us, just enough to see by. "So?" As I let my eyes adjust, she drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and looking at me with expectation. I got the point. She'd cut herself out of the matter pretty spectacularly and in order to be let back in, I had to ask her to rejoin.

I was more than willing to oblige. "I'd sooner have you with me on this than not."

"Not good for the 'Cloaks to see us fighting, eh? Don't want to give them something to tell tales about over the tankards at the Tail of an evening. They probably already get busy speculating what I look like naked." She grinned cheekily at me. "Or if you need to beg Tyr's forgiveness after tainting yourself with sex."

"What, you think—"

She laughed, shaking her head. "No, I definitely know better, love. But come on, even _I _had to wonder about that one with as much as you seemed to be ignoring my hints all those months."

I tried not to scowl. "If they're ogling you, I'd be very happy to educate them about various aspects of being a paladin. Divine wrath might be a good start?"

"They can imagine me in nothing but silk gauze and dancing the Crest of the Wave so long as it stays at talk and they don't let imagination turn into insolence. After all, they're men and they'll speculate: just like women do for men." That sly grin reappeared on her face. "Elanee, of course, liked to comment more on your spiritual qualities but though you were comely, for a human. Shandra's opinion was that a man who could swordfight like you could probably use…ah…a different weapon for hours without tiring. I didn't ask Zhjaeve, but even Neeshka volunteered that you had a nice ass. We know Katriona thinks you're Tyr's gift to women, and Kana gave you a happy glance or two—until she saw Nevalle. It's just wrong that a man should be _that_ good-looking, and we all know he's half in love with Nasher." She leaned forward with a conspirator's tone. "Actually, y'know, we did even wonder if Bishop didn't have sort of a thing for you. He always paid you so much attention, and some people react to an unwanted attraction by flirting with insults…"

Ah, to be flattered and embarrassed all at once. I gave in and let myself laugh. "The night after you fought Lorne, I'd had enough with his little mind games and shocked the hells out of him by suggesting that the fact he couldn't leave me alone meant something like that. It left him sputtering." I'd rather enjoyed that sight, I admitted, though he'd recovered enough to smirk that maybe I wasn't as boring as he'd thought.

She snickered. "It must have been the sight of you in just undertrews that night the Flagon was attacked. I know _I _was definitely appreciating the view once we took care of the gith."

About all I'd been able to think of regarding that at the time was to be grateful that I was in the habit of sleeping in the said linen undertrews. Being forced to fight moments after hopping out of bed made a person look ridiculous enough, and being stark naked would only add to the lunacy. Not to mention that it would tend to leave some vulnerable areas quite exposed with the nasty prospect of rather sharp objects being swung around. "I seem to remember you made a fine sight in your nightshift too," I teased. "But hm, you in silk gauze and performing the Crest of the Wave—that's an offer you're making?" I'd seen that dance at a tavern once in my time in Waterdeep right after I fled there from Neverwinter. Sheltered as I was, I hadn't known just then that it was a fairly tame piece compared to the repertoire of some of the kisscoin lasses and lads in the Docks Ward where I'd been working as a stevedore. But I could definitely say that if Lianna gave it a try, I'd certainly enjoy it.

She let out a huff of mock irritation. "_Focus _now, dear husband. But if you'll allow me back in on judgment, I agree we should stand together on the decision. It lends it more authority if we're both in accord."

"Agreed." I sobered, returning my mind to Bishop and the matter at hand. She murmured thoughtfully. "Look, Lia. I haven't acted as justiciar before. I'm a man of action, not of words. I've offered mercy to evil people if I believe their heart might change. The ones that accepted I made them swear to seek atonement. The ones that refused I had to kill. But I've never had to weight the law and give sentence on a man seeking restitution. Make no mistake: we hold his life in our hands now."

"Do you think we need to execute him?"

"I don't know. But I do know I won't allow him to be hanged. You've never seen a hanging, have you? It's nasty. I'd rather not go into detail if you'll allow." She gestured for me to just move on. "I can't believe the gods are pleased with it. I think that if you can't look a man in the eyes, sentence him to death, then listen to his final words before you take his life with your own hands, perhaps it's not a justly deserved punishment. If it means his death, I have to be the one to do it, and by the sword." I reconsidered for a moment. "Nasher can condemn a man because he can forget what death means. He hands the prisoners over to an executioner and keeps his hands from the dirt of it."

"Part of ruling," she offered. "Delegating minions to do your dirty work."

"I want no part of that," I said with certainty. "There's no task that I'm above performing when it comes to governing this keep. But this is as high as Nasher can force me to ascend; I'm damn well not going to become a king, thank the gods. At least as a lord I have some hopes of not having to make political concessions to keep things running smoothly. That tends to clash with paladin's ideals."

"First Lord Piergeiron in Waterdeep seems to handle it well enough, and he's Tyr's paladin."

True enough a paladin that I'd felt pangs of guilt during my time in his city at my few glimpses of him, reminded of what I thought I had forsaken. "Piergeiron is the Open Lord, yes, but he's got however many Masked Lords as his equals to help in the rule of Waterdeep. And to be truthful, if there's something that he can't tackle because it goes against the grain of his being a paladin, one of them can step up and handle it."

She smiled a fierce, wolfish smile, showing her teeth. "I'm a country lass but make no mistake—I'm not going to let the rest of the court think they can take me for ignorant and screw me over. You know the politics of Neverwinter far better than me, so be ready to advise me. When it comes to actual action, though, fine…so I get to play the manipulative bitch when necessary. Sounds great, sign me up."

"You get to make up for it by having flexibility of action that I don't in other ways as well. You can show kindness where I'm required to be hard-handed," I pointed out.

"Which circles us back to the original point, come to think of it. Bishop, possible execution…"

"As I said, if that's necessary, I'll take it upon myself. Unless, of course, you claim that it's your task. After all, he betrayed you foremost, and he hurt you far more than me."

I noticed she didn't have anything to say to that just at the moment. Oh well, we'd cross that bridge if it came up, though I earnestly hoped not. Enough blood had been shed. "Anyhow, let's get on track. Facts being: he deceived us for months, destroyed the gates of a stronghold under siege, and allowed the enemy access while he ran off to betray us further. So he killed nine Greycloaks in the courtyard, and the entire land could have fallen. It's pretty severe."

"No, you're straying into speculation there. The soldiers actually died at the hands of the undead. The Sword Coast was saved, and he turned and ran before actually fighting against us as our enemy. So the question is this: can we deal in hypothetical situations, that it _might _have been the ruin of our land, that he _might _have killed us all given half the chance? Does the fact that his motive was purely personal mean it wasn't an actual act of treason? Do we consider that no matter what the cause, he served you and did some significant good turns for the people for over a year? And where does the man that he is now and hopes to become weigh in, if at all, against the crimes of the man he was?"

"For being a man of action, you're thinking this over pretty well: lucky for Bishop that you're a Tyrran and concern yourself with true justice. Mielikki's way wouldn't be half so kind to him. Ideally a mad dog has to be put down, for his own good, and for the good of everybody."

"And yet you spared him in the Vale."

"It looks like that was a good choice, since he's actually cleaned up his act with that second chance. Maybe the hand of the gods guided me, but I pitied him, even as I loathed him. I pity him more now, maybe, though I find myself even less willing to excuse what he's done." Her eyes shone brightly in the mage-light suddenly.

"And make no mistake, Casavir. I ordered him dead because I saw him as a threat. He wanted to slay you that day. I would do anything to protect you both, but it's a fine line between justly guarding those you love and being led into evil by being presumptive. I crossed the line by being hasty."

"Sorry if I put you in a bad position. I know you lost face by my playing off my authority."

"I earned it. You wouldn't have had to trump me as a paladin if I hadn't insulted you when you tried to give me an out by saying we stood as equals. I admit it. I'm used to leading you, and it was bad timing for this to come up."

"Fair. And Lianna, you don't need to doubt that I intend to guard you and Marrin with all my power. I stepped in because I wanted to hear what he had to say. If I saw no change in him, he wouldn't have left the Keep alive. Believe that."

I lost track of time as we talked in the woods about Bishop's fate. Debating fiercely, sometimes outright arguing, but I wouldn't have had that any other way; to care that much about the outcome meant that we took the matter seriously.

We started walking back in the darkness; she strengthened her mage-light to finish the journey. We kept hashing it out, and had got it just about to satisfaction when I felt the first droplet of rain on my hand. "Nine hells," I growled, glancing upwards at the menacing dark clouds, then towards the walls and torchlight of the Keep nearby. "Make a run for it?"

"Do you melt if you get wet?" As if to prove her point, she turned her face up with a laugh as the heavens open up, hands held out. "Nah, I always loved summer rains."

"All right, undine," I called after a while, unable to resist a smile at her joy at being one with the elements, enjoying the sensation of the cool evening rain myself.

She stopped and looked at me through the rain, coming towards me. "I'm not exactly an undine, hey? I've wed you and bore you a child, true, but that didn't earn me my soul. But don't doubt—you do help me keep it whole, my love." Hands on my shoulders, she raised herself on tiptoe and kissed me. With that, I rapidly forgot how soaked we were getting.

I decided to take some initiative, as I brushed a wet lock of her hair from where it clung to her cheek, nuzzling the softness of her throat. "Lia, has it been long enough since Marrin?"

"Hm?" She lightly ran her fingers across the back of my neck.

All right, nothing like old-fashioned blunt honesty. "I want you."

"Good. We should check on Marrin, and then…" Her green eyes flashed with delight, and the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile that promised a great deal.

The Greycloaks were probably pretty amused at the sight of their lord and lady tromping back through the gates in full darkness and soaked to the bone. Those who hadn't fought with us probably reckoned that implacable dignity—and total dirt- and water-proofing—came automatically with a title. Sal, ever protective of the garrison's people, was already running some mulled cider out to the guardposts to keep the soldiers warm in the damp chill.

We peered in to Marrin's room; all was well and she was still sleeping. We knew, unfortunately, from experience that it was a state that wouldn't last the night, so best to count on some interruption for our own plans and try to keep good humor. Falyris, seeing the weather outside, appeared in no hurry to move from her warm, dry perch. She must also have made some witty and naughty comment seeing the two of us, since Lianna gave an audible squawk of indignity and glowered at the massive black eagle.

Birds couldn't smirk, but I had the feeling that Falyris was cackling on the inside. "I swear to the gods, I'll roast her someday," Lianna said with a roll of her eyes as she turned to go, still dripping on the carpet.

"Let me guess. We got a helpful suggestion that we go take some time alone and get it over with?" I opened the door to our quarters, gesturing her in.

She tossed her wet cloak towards the hearth, where it landed on the stone with a heavy thump. "Yeah, of course. Preceded by a pithy comment that if we hadn't been so caught up in mating fervor, we _might _have had the good sense to come out of the rain. Shit of Cyric," she swore, tugging at the frogs fastening her tan buckskin jerkin. They were made of black leather lacing and so had swelled a little in the rain, making them tight.

Only too happy to be helpful, I lent a hand, working the knots loose. "Such a gallant gentleman," as she helpfully turned towards my tunic.

"Say that again in about an hour."


	7. Judgment at Neverwinter

**A/N: Based on recently finding out about major upcoming events in the timeline of the Forgotten Realms from 1384 DR onwards, I'm pushing my timeline for "Phoenix Hope" back from 1386 to 1382. I'll go back and edit for pertinent dates, ages, etc. in due time.**

**Just to give fair warning, this story veers into AU territory as it inevitably won't follow NWN2 canon newly established when the "Mask of the Betrayer" expansion is released in early October. My plans were made long before then.**

_**Lianna**_

_Eleasias 23_, _1382 DR_

Getting soaked by summer rain had always seemed like a great idea right in the moment. The feel of raindrops on your skin—I'd never feared the outdoors. The wilder nature became, the more I loved it. I tended to forget the fact that getting drenched left you in soaked clothing. And that meant it kept you damp and cold for a long time after.

Trying to get out of our wet clothes caused Casavir and me some unintentional laughter, but we managed the job well enough. Soon enough I lay with my head on his shoulder, bedcovers pulled up around us. Holding each other close, the warmth slowly returned.

And with that heat; well, the other sort came back also. Not the likes of Bishop's brand of romance, all fire: quick to heat but fast to turn from warmth to the pain of burns, and then roar into an inescapable inferno, full of rage and lust and fear. And in the end, maybe it would leave nothing but a charred ruin once it ran out of fuel and died away.

Casavir was more like water, perhaps, with deep and swift currents hidden by the surface calm. It reminded me of the time Daeghun had taken me on a trading trip near Waterdeep as a child. While he haggled over furs and trinkets, I got tired of just wading around in the surf. So I'd dived beneath the placid white crests of the breakers. A child of the marshes, I was ignorant of what lay below and how it might overwhelm me. And it did: a few breathless, rolling moments being tumbled about by the sheer force of it, and then with the break of the wave, I was left gasping and then laughing on shore as the warm waters lapped around me. Brushing off the gritty sand, I'd jumped right back in—I'd wished nothing but to feel that exhilarating, unexpected force come over me again.

I definitely had his full attention. I leaned down, tauntingly brushing my lips across his. "What's this, Cas? All that strength, and you can't even handle the likes of me right now. Are you some kind of flumph, totally helpless if you're turned on your back?"

His response to that was to promptly turn the tables and pin me underneath him. He gave me a victorious smile and arched one dark brow as if inviting me to comment. I laughed, conceding the point, though I gave him a little nip on the shoulder in revenge. He ignored it, teasing me further with nonchalance. "I always thought they might make good paladins," he mused. "Me," he gave up the façade and kissed me, "…just a human paladin, though. Sorry."

"Thank the gods for that, _amaelm'in_." I gave him a pleased grin of my own. "I don't see this working half so well otherwise."

He laughed, but then hesitated as he touched the old scar on my ribs. Losing the last shard had made the injury even bigger and uglier, and the scar was still raw pink with recent healing.

Ten months had passed since we lay together last in this same bed. Neither of us was the same as we had been that night. And yet, I was content to not mourn that past overly much. The silver sword, the endless battles, the nightmare of it all had no place now. The _Kalach-Cha_ and the _Katalmach_: their time was done and gone.

I reached for his hand and took it in mine, pulling it from the wound. I looked at him, his gaze meeting mine. "Leave yesterday back. I want to think about the future." I shifted to be a little closer to him. "You and I, together for this life…and the next, you said."

"Yes. But don't think about the next life yet." He smiled at me. "We've time left in this one first."

Morning came hot and with the air humid from the evaporating rains of the evening. Didn't stop Casavir, of course—he pursued his training regimen with his usual dedication. I had to wonder if Marrin, once she passed the constant sleep of infancy would be a handful if she had anything resembling either of our energy. Not as much of late with the hours we'd been keeping by Marrin's clock, though.

When I headed down the hill from the keep, he was already done with morning devotions and was busy sparring with Dalinar, one of Ivarr's fellow monks. Cas' sole concession to admitting human vulnerability to weather—and that begrudgingly, I was sure—was to have taken off his tunic and left it neatly hung over the fence of the training yard. Not that heat was his only weakness just now.

He admitted he studied weaponless combat in case he was disarmed. Paladins relied heavily on their swords, while monks made hand-to-hand a way of life. It showed since Dalinar was getting the best of it. Never mind that he was some twenty years older, and that it was the lord of Crossroads Keep he had in an arm-bar.

Having forsaken his own sparring with Ivarr, Khelgar was happily turning it into a spectator sport. I somehow didn't think "Go for the eyes!" in friendly practice was exactly in line with Tyrran ideals. I didn't see Neeshka outside—she was probably in the basement. She seemed to have caught tinkering madness from Grobnar. Last I'd heard she was working on some mad half-magical, half-mechanical device to detect intruders. Her reasoning was that true rogues really needed a new challenge. Those who would get caught obviously couldn't hack it.

I saw that the young female Greycloaks were close attention to the sight of my husband in a sleeveless undertunic; so much for studying technique. I couldn't help suppressing a laugh, though. An attractive and underdressed man in a fight—who could blame a woman for enjoying it? No need for me to worry; he shared my bed and nobody else's when all was said and done. Not that I'd let it slide entirely. He was charmingly ignorant of the effects small actions had on the ladies. And making him blush and stammer over it was too good to pass up.

Making my way to the godswood tucked in the quiet at the southwestern corner of the keep, I breathed in the scent of loam and rich earth and growing things. I'd planted the trees over two years ago when I took over Crossroads Keep. It went far—at least for my own soul—to clear out some of the canker-rot of the Luskan occupation. They'd destroyed whatever trees might have been inside the walls before.

They weren't quite large enough yet for full shade; Elanee had sped their growth along at least. But the peace pervaded the place nonetheless. The presence of all the trees honored Mielikki and her patronage of the wild forests. And the oak, proud and stately at the circle's center, was hers specifically. But I'd chosen the others to also give tribute to some of the other benevolent gods of the pantheon.

A linden for Tyr, of course, with its dignity and lopsided leaves, dear now to both Cas and me. Torm's ash: deep-rooted, strong, its wood used by many a warrior. Lathander's apple had branches growing heavy with the renewed promise of its yearly crop. Kelemvor's willow was planted then to honor his stewardship of the friends I'd lost along the way—I grieved for more of them now. Chauntea had the birch, a tree of abundant comfort to mortals with its many uses. Sune claimed the maple, with its flame-bright autumn color. To close the sacred circle of seven, Ilmater's pine wept its hidden tears of amber beneath green boughs.

I made my morning prayers to Mielikki as usual, gratified to feel her blessings of the day come over me. Yawning at the late night and encouraged by the sluggishness the heat caused, I leaned back against the solid trunk of the oak and felt myself dozing off.

I snapped awake at the sound of chanting nearby, rolling to my feet and reaching automatically for a sword that wasn't there. Old habits die hard. Peering around the oak, I saw a sight that a year ago would have meant I'd slammed back far too much icewhiskey…because it would have been a complete delusion. Bishop knelt before the pine, making his own morning prayers to Ilmater.

Still a little hesitant at some of the words in Thorass, it was obvious he was new to the faith. By comparison, after years as a Tyrran, Cas could sing morning devotions with ease, pitch perfect and each intonation of the ancient words smooth as silk. But in both cases, the words were no less sincere. I kept silent, not wanting to disturb him when he was already awkward; but secretly gratified to see that he really had changed.

I waited behind him until he finished then spoke up. "So it's true."

He turned and saw me. I glanced down at his wrists, exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his tunic, and saw the scarlet bands tattooed there. A myriad of emotions passed across his face. "Yeah…"

"Ilmater…guess I'm surprised." I fumbled for words already. "I mean…"

"Cyric would have been better back in the day," he agreed calmly.

"Sorry."

"Nah, I deserve it."

"He's a good deity." Could I sound any more banal? "While I was in Rashemen I journeyed with one of his clerics...a half-deva." I'd come to enjoy Kaelyn, with her dove-grey wings and fierce nature, even as I marveled at her naïveté about the mortal realms. She'd promised we'd meet again someday back in her patron's lands.

He nodded eagerly. "They're good to have—great healers."

"We were in Rashemen, so her divine magic was gone. But she still was welcome as a friend and an ally." I really couldn't take much more of this. "Look, I assume Casavir will be along soon."

He shrugged, and so we waited. Bishop began prowling around restlessly. I called it correctly: maybe five minutes passed before I saw Cas approaching.

"Morning," he greeted me, finishing buttoning up his tunic as he stepped into the godswood. "I figured I'd find you here."

"Have a good time?" I asked.

"Dalinar beat me handily," he said cheerfully. "So I've got to work at it more."

I sighed, shaking my head. "What of peace, my love?"

He clasped my hand in his. "Peace is only the calm before the next storm."

"I suppose you're right. We mortals inevitably screw it up again."

"And so I try to be ready for what comes. I have you and our child now to protect. But," he smiled, "I'm enjoying the respite nonetheless."

I remembered Bishop was nearby and suddenly felt a little shy. This wasn't for him to see. I cleared my throat. "You come in good time." I raised my voice. "Hey, Bishop?"

He nodded to Casavir as he slipped out from the cover of the trees. "I'm ready." His voice was steady—too steady.

Cas glanced at Bishop. "Right—" His eyes narrowed, his eyebrows rose—and he looked back and forth at the two of us for a full ten seconds as if we'd suddenly turned into a pair of ravenous gelatinous cubes.

He turned to stare at the linden tree then looked skyward. He barked, "This is _not _the 'further insight' I had in mind!"

I'd never heard him openly express any irritation with his patron. No matter how frustrating, cryptic, unfair—but not unjust—or utterly demanding the Just God might be, Casavir always took it with patient good humor.

"Right, so…" As he kept muttering to himself, I put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "What the hells is the problem?"

He shook his head incredulously. "I always _wondered_ why you kept him around, and even more, why he stayed."

"Because I hoped he might turn out all right given some kindness," I snapped. "And I guess he got weirdly obsessed with me." Bishop made an irritated noise at that. "You're aware of that. Now will you please make some sense?"

"Blood calls to blood," he said simply. "Though neither of you knew…I didn't either. I couldn't see it. I wasn't powerful enough then to sense those bonds, and he always was concealed by anger anyhow."

I stared at him. "Are you totally _daft_?"

"No. You're kin." He was joking. He had to be. There was no chance in Baator that…_Bishop_ and me?

"You're serious?" Bishop finally spoke up.

"If I'd thought about it last night…" He said it half to himself, but I heard. When he'd been taking a look at my spirit, he must have not looked too closely at all my ties and identified them. "I can probably guess, though." He gave me an apologetic look. "Neither of you seems to know who your father was."

I blushed in embarrassment. "Oh, _thanks_, Cas." There wasn't a large stigma attached to it—half the babes in West Harbor were probably conceived out of wedlock. It was common enough in farm villages. But I didn't exactly enjoy it being trumpeted hither and yon. Plus my being the illegitimate child of a paladin took a lot of explaining. As I'd found, they weren't exactly known for rampant casual fornication.

Bishop was looking equally prickly about it. "What about it?"

"Do you think I'm enjoying this?" Casavir protested. "Tyr must want it known, or else he wouldn't have let me see."

As I thought about it, it made a terrible sense. From the first, despite his bitterness, his crudeness, and his lust for destruction, something had made me want to draw him in. But I was no paladin, to patiently try to turn hearts and souls. Not just pity; that had its limits. Not love either: for him I'd never felt even a spark of the heat I'd had for Casavir. More than once others in our fellowship—Casavir included—had privately questioned my including Bishop. I could never explain it as anything more than a gut instinct.

From the way he'd spoken sometimes, he must have wondered the same. He openly scorned me and my ways. He might have wanted to bed me—oh gods, how nauseating the idea was now—but he didn't love me. But he stayed and followed my commands anyhow, beyond any sense or reason.

Blood calling to blood, as Casavir said. "He's right," I said, mouth suddenly dry. "I think somehow we both knew. We just didn't understand…"

Bishop looked at me. For the first time since I'd met him, he was apparently speechless. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, giving a gusty sigh. "He wouldn't lie," he finally answered. "It makes sense."

Casavir barged in on the tender family moment. "It's one thing to give you guest-right," he gave Bishop a fierce glance. "It's another damn thing entirely to claim you as kin."

Bishop snapped back, "So play it safe and add another reason to cut off my head!"

"Will you both shut the hells up," I shouted. Pinching the bridge of my nose and fighting the headache threatening to begin, I tried to think. "Casavir, he's my…my brother." The word was strange on my lips. After so many lonely years as a child longing for more family, I suddenly had it. It turned out to be a bittersweet gift of the gods. "And Marrin's uncle."

"I," Casavir said between his teeth, "am not letting him _near _our daughter."

This was about turn into a repeat performance of yesterday's courtyard debacle. I tried to stop that immediately. "Neither am I. He's my brother. I can't change it."

"Look," Bishop started. "Um…first, congratulations to you both. On Marrim."

"_Marrin,_" Casavir corrected swiftly. I realized that Bishop hadn't known we had a daughter, let alone her name. It hadn't exactly come up while I was trying to execute him.

He just stood there looking awkward, so I picked up the slack. "Bishop, you put yourself in this spot. Blood doesn't mean a damn thing after that. You earn your right to be welcome in my house."

He nodded quickly. "Shit," he muttered. "I tried to kill my little sister." He grimaced, looking at Casavir. "This affecting your verdict at all?"

His threat made, Casavir had calmed down again. "No. I guess you want to hear that, though."

"By all means," Bishop said with a certain amount of irony.

Casavir shrugged. "So be it. In the sight of Tyr, let justice be done on Bishop Rettikar.

First, we considered the deaths of nine Greycloaks in the courtyard."

"I'm guilty," Bishop offered with a nervous look.

"In short, you broke the gate but the undead actually killed them. So, you're accountable for malicious actions that led to their deaths. But you're not guilty of murder."

"All right."

"As for the matter of treason, you meant to betray us, not Neverwinter." I spoke next. "And we held the Keep and beat them anyhow back. Plus, you turned away from Garius at the end. So you never raised a weapon against our forces. That's got to be the most inept treason I've ever heard of."

I heard Casavir's suppressed chuckle beside me. "Anyhow, we're inclined to call it an idiotic—and failed—personal vendetta."

He was reaping some of the sarcasm he'd so generously sown. I knew he was probably biting his tongue to not return it in kind. The fact that he managed it impressed me.

"The fact that you might have led to the end of Faerûn…doesn't matter. All we can judge is what happened. And the only harm caused was a destroyed gate, betraying your friends, and causing nine deaths. So that's what you'll answer for."

"You owe me ten thousand gold dragons for replacing the gate," I told him. "I know you've got a hoard from our adventures, so don't claim poverty on me."

"I'll pay up. And as for the Greycloaks?"

"Do you remember Greenmeadow?" Casavir asked him.

Bishop thought for a moment and nodded. "Yeah. Little place, about a day north-northeast as the crow flies. We went through there on our way to…ah, never mind."

"The squad of 'Cloaks in the courtyard were all from there. So, fortunately for you, you won't have to go far to make restitution to their families."

"Unfortunately," Bishop said sourly, "on the other hand, the entire village now has reason to hate me."

Casavir's look pretty clearly said "Not my problem" for a moment, before he tried for a more neutral expression. "True. You'll have to deal with that. And without nine of the youngest and strongest, they'll have issues with harvest soon."

To give him credit, Bishop caught the current of the thought quickly enough. "All right, what's the going rate for a farmhand's wages? I'll pay to make up for it."

"You will. You'll pay each family five thousand gold dragons to compensate for the loss of years of labor." That was close to ten years' wages for a journeyman crafter of Neverwinter, let alone a farmhand. "As for loss of company, there's no price that can be put on it. You'll apologize to them and hope they accept it."

Bishop nodded hastily. "That's not all," I said. "You don't get off just dropping some sacks of gold and apologies and running away. You'll stay in Greenmeadow till Highharvesttide to help them."

He stared at us a long moment, incredulous. "You expect me to—"

"Yes, we do expect it," Casavir cut him off. "You're not above farm labor. You'll work at whatever tasks the people give you, to your fullest ability. You're going to get to know them and know exactly what your actions did to them." Bishop looked horrified at the idea.

"Otherwise, we've got a nice cell to keep you in until Nasher's guards can arrive," I pointed out.

He blinked, gritted his teeth and glanced towards Ilmater's pine, idly running his fingers over his right wrist and its tattoo. Finally he looked up. "Agreed. So if someone stabs me to death in revenge, do I at least get credit for trying?"

"Be serious," I snapped.

"I am," he shot back.

"Oh for Mi—"

"Already thought of it," Casavir spoke over both of us. "I'll give you a letter to Sister Jena to explain the situation. You'll be bound under Tyr's protection."

"And that means what exactly?"

"It means," Casavir explained, "that they can say whatever in the hells they feel like to you, but you aren't to be physically harmed. Not without inviting some divine retribution."

"Useful," Bishop deadpanned. "So, what else?"

"Not much. For us," I said, "I guess there's not much you can do. You were constantly a rude, obnoxious prick. But even if you whined, you did your share to help us and fought pretty bravely."

"Thanks," he muttered.

"And in the end, your rather inept," he winced, "efforts at betrayal didn't actually harm _us_. We saved the Keep and defeated the King of Shadows anyhow."

"You'll have to speak to some of the others in time," Cas went on, "to see if they feel more wronged. But as for me, I'm willing to call it even with your just being here. That's apology enough."

"Myself as well."

Bishop nodded slowly, the grim set of his jaw telling that he wasn't exactly pleased, but he was going to have the good sense to keep quiet. "All right." His glance flicked over to me, suddenly wary. "Out of the keep by noontide, you said. I'll honor that…my lady." The title startled me both with the absence of the usual biting sarcasm, but also with the careful weight he gave it. Gods, did I recognize it: I'd spent the best part of a year listening to those two words in just that tone from Casavir, the formality masking his uncertainty at how things stood with me.

I sighed, held up a hand to stop him. "Look, I was hasty. You're welcome to stay a spell, and make sure you speak to the quartermaster before you leave, get some supplies."

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair with a quick, nervous gesture, leaving it standing on end. "I'll take you up on some food so I can get to Greenmeadow quicker without needing to forage or hunt. But I'm getting out of here today," he said it bluntly. "My staying is too much trouble for all of us."

I wasn't going to argue with that, since it was the truth. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"By the way," Casavir spoke up. "I think you owe one more." Bishop was notably silent—it wasn't like he had much room to protest, but his features tightened anxiously, his eyes gleaming with a cuagar's intensity. "You had your issues with me, but you never passed up an opportunity to give insult to everybody in a holy order."

I glanced at him, suddenly curious. He hadn't discussed this one with me. I was about ready to quietly ask what the hells he was about and why I'd been left out. I held my tongue long enough to realize that he'd shut that door with good reason. If he was assigning penance for affronts to paladins, it wasn't my turf to tread on.

"So, it's only fair that you also make some restitution to the gods. Once you're finished in Greenmeadow, you next get to report to the House of Two Hands."

"Huh?"

"Tyr's temple in Waterdeep," I allowed myself to explain that little point then resolved to shut up again, interested in where he was going.

"I've a paladin friend there who means to go questing, and is in need of a guide starting at the end of Marpenoth. That would be you, so you'll have plenty of time after Highharvesttide to take some time to rest."

"Expectations?" Bishop asked flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. I could imagine him snarling mentally about probably having to obediently lead a clueless paladin across the wilderness to go hunt down the holy—or maybe holey—cloak of a Tyrran martyr or something. He would probably be ashamed enough to behave meek as a lamb at Greenmeadow, but he was under no such obligation in this case. I had to admit, it would test his new humility.

"I'd estimate it'll take about four tendays. I'm not asking you to just shut up and obey, but you'd better be respectful and courteous."

Bishop made a half-throttled noise in the back of his throat, with a sudden flash of bared teeth. I had the feeling he was trying to not laugh at Cas' words—whether nervously or derisively I wasn't sure. Taking a few seconds to compose himself, he just nodded. "Done now?" he asked with a deliberate nonchalance, but I saw the spark of worry in his eyes.

"That's your judgment, yes," Casavir confirmed, "so may it please Tyr." Released, Bishop wasted no time escaping the godswood, Karnwyr bounding to his side from where he'd been lounging in the distance under the shade of Jacoby's awning.

We watched him go in silence. After a little while I put a hand on Cas' shoulder and he turned to look at me. "You didn't let on that you mean to subject him to a paladin for four tendays."

"Sorry."

"No, I guess it's no business of mine."

"Honestly, I just thought of it. Tyr-given inspiration, I guess."

"He's a busy god, then, along with other revelations of the morning," I observed wryly.

"Guess so. But it seems appropriate. He owes the gods something for constant blasphemy. I had word from Waterdeep asking if I knew a good scout who knows the north-country. And I didn't tell him that High Lord Abbott Gerrick authorized a thousand gold dragons as pay for his skills."

"Good idea. Money tends to sweeten the deal."

"I figured he'll act truer if he thinks he's donating his services."

"So who's his lucky new friend? I hope he can handle Bishop."

"_She_ will be perfectly fine. I'm sending him out with Brienne."

I turned to stare at him. "Brienne Starfire?" He nodded. "Mielikki, is that a good idea? The two of them…" I had met the young paladin only for an evening in Larch Crossing. We'd been on our way up to Ammon's Haven when we'd run across her at the village inn, all of us taking shelter from a snowstorm. I hadn't thought much about encountering her right then. I knew by now that paladins were few enough to be a close-knit fellowship. Even if two of had actually met for the first time, they seemed to treat each other like long-absent friends. Things were always even warmer between the paladins of the same deity, and both Cas and Brienne were Tyrrans.

They'd excused themselves to talk business alone for a while, and I had then noticed certain awkwardness between them, more than just that of two strangers. I'd honestly wondered if she wasn't perhaps an old lover. It was only several months later during a lull in our action-filled days that I got the full truth about her out of Casavir.

"Why not? My choice was deliberate, Lia. If he manages to get over the fact she's a paladin and can talk honestly to her, he'll find his best possible ally. And he needs them just now."

"He does need friends to keep him going," I said with a sigh. "Yeah, he may be my brother, but I'm not exactly ready to be his friend again just yet."

"And he doesn't incline to befriend Bree, nothing lost: he still can complete his task and move on with his life."

"Honestly, I'm interested to see how he does…showing respect for a paladin, but a woman and a half-elf besides." I well knew that in the past he considered women at best as little more than amusing sexual diversions. And thanks to poor foolish Malin, we'd all heard his open scorn for half-elves as mongrels and misfits.

He gave me a knowing look. "She can keep him in line, but you think I didn't consider that as well? I'm not trying to make this too easy on him. Altogether, I think it'll make for a pretty good test of how deep his change runs."

"Well done, Justiciar." I kissed him lightly on the cheek.

He gave a deep sigh of relief at that and wrapped his arms around me, pressing me close for a moment. "Thank you, my love."

Bishop left in the early afternoon after restocking his rucksack, without even coming to say good-bye. That was more or less his way, so it didn't surprise me too keenly when Light-of-Heavens delivered the news.

What did surprise me was that Bevil soon chased me down as I was listening to the drone of Kana reciting the latest litany of figures to Cas and me that added up to the sum total of "All is well at Crossroads Keep". She was chafing at not having something urgent to pounce on, I could tell, so I was grateful for the distraction.

Bevil put a hand on my shoulder and murmured, "From Bishop," in my ear, placing a letter and a soft leather pouch on the table beside my hand.

Excusing myself, I left Casavir to Kana's mercy, their two dark heads bowed over the charts and columns of numbers. I'd apologize later.

No seal, and I noticed that he'd crumpled the fine deckle paper in his haste—or more likely, maybe he'd wadded it up to throw it away then changed his mind. Opening it, my head immediately swam trying to read it, since he had gods-awful handwriting and equally poor spelling. Though from what little I knew of his past, I doubted the Luskans had been too diligent in seeing that the literacy of a young boy got along at a steady clip. Eventually I deciphered the content:

_Lianna,_

_Guess I turned out lousy as our dad. I get that you've got the kid to think about and I'd be the uncle your parents don't want you to know about...Duncan, basically._

_Casavir's right, even if you are too good for him. Yeah, I know, I should talk. Trust me, I'm embarrassed enough there. But I do need to do those things, maybe for me as much as anybody else. I've got a long road to go._

_Sorry for everything._

_Bishop _

_PS The gem should cover ten thousand for the gate. The extra…whatever you want to call it. If it didn't get delivered, you know who to blame._

Undoing the drawstring, I opened the pouch and tipped its contents into my palm. A huge emerald winked its green fire up at me in the sunlight. I was no jeweler, but I thought it would sell for nearly a hundred thousand dragons.

Folding the letter, I sighed. Finally, an apology, and as awkwardly as it was worded, at least he'd cared enough to try. And now I had a couple of months to sort out what the heck I was going to do regarding my new-found brother. Right now, I was in no mood to consider whether he was invited for Yule dinners or not. I slipped his note into my pocket and went to go find Casavir.

After hearing Marrin fussing and stopping in for her evening feeding, I finally I found him in the courtyard with a messenger just ridden in from the north, wearing a tabard with Nasher's stylized watchful eye.

"She's here now," Casavir observed dryly, gesturing for the messenger to get on with it.

"Lord Nasher of Neverwinter has sent me to deliver a message to the Lady and Lord Erelissohn of Crossroads Keep," he proclaimed to anybody who was listening—which amounted to myself, Cas, and the odd assortment of Greycloaks who suddenly showed a great interest in the moss tenaciously growing on some of the base stones of the walls.

"I didn't think he sent you to deliver a fruit basket or anything worthwhile," I mumbled.

I must have been too loud, because the courier raised an eyebrow. Casavir gave me a little nudge in the ribs in reply and smiled with the graciousness that paladins probably drove themselves half to death to perfect in the face of sheer provocation. "As I said, you've found us. What message does Lord Nasher send?"

"He wishes to convey his invitation to you for his marriage to the Lady Rinda Saxathil of Ruathym, this coming twentieth of Uktar."

"Wait a second, _marriage_?"

"Lord Nasher means to wed?" Casavir and I spoke up together.

"Indeed." He went on for a while about the pending union, and I was relieved when I finally managed to foist him off with an offer to break his fast and rest a while before he began the journey back north.

One of the Greycloaks made to led his horse to the stables, a handsome bay gelding whose peaceable state and look of contented good health told me that at least his master had spared his mount along the journey. It raised the man's value a little in my eyes; some were so eager to do their lord's bidding that they'd have cruelly whipped the horse into an exhausted lather the entire way just to bring us a non-critical message. Sending the horse my greetings and congratulating it on a job well done, I smiled when he thought back hopefully about having an apple. Calling after the 'Cloak, Private Niya, I passed on the request.

But I turned immediately to Cas when the pale blue of the courier's tabard was little more than a speck against the grey of the gravel up the path towards the Keep. "Seriously?"

He gave a half-roll of his eyes and spread his hands in a helpless shrug. "It had to happen someday, Lianna: if nothing else to stop the other rulers of the lands jockeying to marry off their daughters to the Lord of Neverwinter."

"Nevalle will be heartbroken," I couldn't resist the crack.

He didn't answer that directly but I caught his quick smile. "Ruathym makes sense. Luskan threatens both, and we have the craftsmen to provide superior weapons while they have a culture to produce excellent warriors. It's a pretty strategic alliance, really."

He was getting that pensive look that he'd regularly had in Neverwinter while chewing over the deeper implications of what errand we'd been assigned to. A habit of his; he always was a man of thought rather than impulse. I'd admitted from the beginning that I valued both the fact that he had the political savvy of one who'd spent years exposed to that snake pit, and that he stayed uncorrupted by it. After he'd taught me the game over a year ago now, I'd come to think of it as his "chyvasse board" look, that sharp focus on trying to figure out the strategy at work and to anticipate, if possible, a few moves ahead.

"D'you happen to know anything about this Rinda?"

Gesturing me to walk with him, he nodded. "Only a little. She's thirty-one, the daughter of the present Marcherlord, Laggan Stormborn." He added, "Oh, and she's a Faelkyr."

"The nobles are gonna _love _that," I couldn't quite conceal my glee. "They have a hard enough time handling me. To have their liege lady be a trained shield-maiden…" I almost could enjoy seeing this Rinda if only to see how quickly she might manage to bull her way right through Nasher's pretenses and niceties.

"Not a delicate little rose," Casavir agreed with a gleam of humor in his eyes. "I suppose we can't avoid attending: we're already required to be at court for the lord's tithing in Uktar."

"You think he didn't plan that?"

"Of course he did—saves the trouble of trying to herd us together for it. And we need to bring some kind of gift."

"Wait, I thought that saving his lands from untold evil kind of equaled gifts for a lifetime of birthdays, namings, Yules, and the like." I thought a moment. "Maybe Marrin's lifetime as well."

"Doesn't work that way. One day you save the world from eternal darkness, next you're a pariah because you 'forgot' your liege lord's wedding."

"Yeah, I get it. So, what do we give the man who probably has everything already?"

"Silver candlesticks," he suggested. "Decorative, but still functional. If the castle's ever attacked again and the likes of Nevalle can get off their collective highborn backsides, they'll have a weapon ready to hand and no excuses." He gave me a raised eyebrow and a broad grin. "Maybe Rinda can make good use of them."


	8. Stand By Me

_**Bishop**_

_Marpenoth 5, 1382 DR_

Well, it had been an interesting month in Greenmeadow. I'd gotten warmer receptions in my years. But then again, I hadn't exactly earned a hero's welcome. In a different world, had Jorik Dessier come to my village and admitted he'd led raids to kidnap kids to use as soldier-slaves, I wouldn't have invited him to share my meat and mead either.

I knew the villagers' type, though: hardscrabble folk, dirt poor, tough as the earth they worked, and above all proud. Words wouldn't impress them—I got that quickly enough.

They tried their best to beat me down the first tenday. No sooner would I finish one task than someone else would come along and demand my help. Inevitably it was brutal, sweaty, backbreaking stuff. All the while, they made their accusations. All true: betrayer, murderer, scum. I admitted I was happy my tattoos were so visible, because I had the feeling they bought me some little bit of mercy.

Not much, though. I trudged back to Sister Jena's cottage each night with my hands blistered and my muscles screaming in pain. She'd cluck her tongue and smear some gods-awful unguent that smelled halfway to pigshit on my hands. What healing I got from her was just a cantrip, enough so that I could get out of bed come morning, but not enough to take the brunt of the pain. At least she gave me bed and board, though. It would have been the stables and discarded scraps otherwise.

I noticed after the first tenday that the accusations and the tasks both eased up. I lost count of my apologies, though, and found myself biting my tongue at least a dozen times a day. Not a great idea to snap back to a man or woman whose kin you'd had a hand in killing. And to be honest, I had no defense for it.

By the end of the month and end of harvest, I had gained their respect. That, and my skin burned darker than ever it had been, a farmer's leather-rough hands, and close to a stone of muscle.

They had their Highharvesttide celebration, and insisted I attend. Their pride demanded it. For that final night, at least, they treated me like the other young men who'd hired on to toil in the fields. No matter that a month ago they'd have gladly hanged me. They insisted on paying me full wages—out of the gold I'd given them, what an irony—and filling my rucksack with food.

At least my journey back was shorter. This paladin buddy of Casavir's was obviously in a hurry to get started. I'd had a message from Reverend Justiciar Oleff that I shouldn't go to Waterdeep. I'd meet my new tormentor in Neverwinter, and fully two tendays ahead of schedule besides.

Karnwyr had been by himself most of the time I'd been in Greenmeadow; the nearby woods offered enough distraction. Although he was happy enough to sleep in Sister Jeska's cottage and take her table scraps, he kept mostly to himself. "Pups try to pull tail," he complained to me with a baleful glance as we set out on the dusty trail north to Neverwinter.

"Poor baby," I grunted. "You want to fight over who had it worse? The adults wanted to kill me."

"Let you into their pack eventually," he observed. "Females start to look at you differently; could smell it." His tongue lolled out over his teeth and he wagged his tail in the wolfish version of amusement.

"Oh, shut _up_. Look, that's the last thing I need right now." He might have been right, though I'd been too tired and distracted to notice. It hit me only a few moments later that I actually meant it. I had never been the sort to turn down some slap and tickle with a willing wench. Hey, if the offer was made and I didn't have to pay, why not?

Not that I was going to go to extremes and take a vow of celibacy or anything. Just that right now, my life was complicated enough. I was too busy figuring out the sort of man I wanted to be. And I wasn't sure yet whether that sort would accept an offer of a casual warm welcome or not. Gods knew I was in no shape to offer a woman anything deeper than that either. Until I got things straightened out, best I kept my own counsel.

When I got to the city, I stopped at the House of Healing first. Janneth grinned when he saw me and waved me into his office. "You're still with us then, my boy?"

"Yeah. Despite Casavir's best efforts."

He scoffed lightly, even as he handed me a glass of icewhiskey. "Mercy, Bishop. Don't take it for granted."

"I don't," I protested, taking a sip and letting the smooth warmth of it fill my belly.

"Be thankful that Oleff taught him well about true justice when he was a boy. By another man's lights, you might be dead even now."

"So I'll be sure to thank Oleff when I see him this afternoon," I groused. I sighed, realizing how petty it sounded. "Look, I'm working on it," I offered feebly.

"I know. I never faulted you on courage." I noticed the new grey tattoo of a small teardrop over the curve of his left cheekbone. So he'd gained more status among the followers of Ilmater in my absence.

"Did you hear what he's putting me through?"

"Not details, no. Don't tell me, either; it's your business for now. He'll be here next month, and he offered to meet with us as regards his sentence. Oleff as Tyr's representative for justice here in Neverwinter, and me since you're a follower of Ilmater." He raised an eyebrow. "Have you thoughts to pass on, though?"

"Can't fault it," I admitted. "He gave hard tasks, but fair."

I stayed long enough to finish the drink and endure both more ribbing and encouragement from him. Then it was just a stone's throw down Dyer's Lane to the Hall of Justice. Ilmater, when was the last time I was in this place?

The night before Lianna dueled Lorne, I realized. I'd passed Casavir on his way out, smirked a little as I imagined his holy groveling. Gone in to the chapel, made some rude remarks about Tyr, and tried to tell her that I hoped she wouldn't get killed. I had been getting sort of fond of her.

Fond…that was putting it lightly. I really hadn't allowed myself to think yet about the last little revelation at the Keep. I'd been too busy, and what in the hells was there to say about it? I'd been jealous, possessive to the point of madness—over my younger sister. Half-sister; but that was close enough. Incest was enough to sicken even most of the dark gods. About the only one twisted enough to maybe be amused would be Cyric, because he was raving insane. So that certainly gave it perspective.

The kinder deities must have been merciful to keep us apart. After all, she'd never seriously given me a second glance. Right from the start, it had been obvious that she had eyes for him. That rejection had enraged me before. It was blessed relief now. Even just knowing I'd wanted her in my bed carried enough shame.

I didn't think it was a mistake. Whatever I thought about Casavir, I knew he wouldn't lie. He took his oaths too seriously. Besides, he gained no advantage by revealing that kinship. Not now, long after he'd already won the war between us.

When he'd said it, I'd known it for truth. It must have been. Some part of me must have always realized it. I wouldn't normally have spent a tenday in the company of a woman like her without being forced. Especially not when she cut me down verbally and made it obvious that she wasn't the kind to invite a man to her bed casually. And yet I found myself unable to leave. I'd tried to rationalize the connection I felt to her. Maybe that was the nature of it. I'd been so desperate to make sense of it that I'd convinced myself I had to love her, no matter how insane the idea was.

I thought while I was at the monastery that I couldn't be lower than I had been. The gods begged to differ, and so with this information, I'd found otherwise. I was actually kind of glad to be away from her for a while to sort it all out.

Beyond the embarrassment, there was the fact that, like it or not, I was now bound to her. And with that came other ties: Casavir was now my goodbrother. A paladin for my kin now, and one whose throat I'd thought about opening some long, black nights. Irony was a real bitch like that. The only consolation I had was that he didn't seem thrilled either.

But more than that, there was the matter of the kid. Marrin Erelissohn was my niece. And as much as I had a hard time picturing myself as anyone's brother, imagining being an uncle was ridiculous. A recently reformed traitor and general dissolute waste of space wasn't exactly the kind to play pony for a kid. At least they admitted they didn't trust me with her right now. That strangely was some kind of comfort: some things hadn't changed.

Reverend Justiciar Oleff pegged me as trouble when I walked through the front door. One look at his face said it all. Cool blue eyes, the set of his lips underneath the neat mustache. I'd probably gotten too used to Janneth's Ilmaterian sympathy, barbed as it was. A Tyrran was naturally going to be harder on me. And of course, even if Oleff didn't know the full story of my crimes—he knew enough.

He still mustered a good amount of courtesy for all that, insisting on giving me the temple's hospitality.

"I'm supposed to be meeting a paladin here," I reminded him. "Can you let him know?"

"Certainly." Was that a hint of a smile on his lips? "There's a message for you as well. From Lady Lianna; she sent it to Waterdeep to wait for you." He gave a half-shrug. "So they sent it up here, of course." He excused himself to his office and came back less than a minute later. He handed me a folded piece of parchment and a thick, heavy parcel wrapped in black-dyed buckskin.

Sitting down at the table he indicated, I cracked the blob of green wax holding the folds closed. It looked like she'd pressed it with an ordinary silver wyvern to seal it. Good to know she wasn't getting into snobbery yet, ladyship or not.

_Bishop,_

_Yes, I got your note—and the gem. Thanks. _

_So if you've made it far enough to be reading this, I guess you'll be stubborn enough to stick through to the end. (If for no other reason than to give Casavir a Suldarian salute by pretending it was easy. Yeah, I know you at least that well.)_

_I still don't know what to make of it. I can't claim life with Daeghun was happy, but I know it was worlds better than what little you said about Luskan._

_You never spoke about your mum. I finally found recently that mine was a paladin of Tyr who was naïve enough to get involved with him when she was powerless during the Time of Troubles. And I imagine the idea my mum was a paladin just made you laugh. _

_But for all that, she didn't raise me. She died to save me. And so it explains little about me and Cas. You most of all know now it's not our blood that defines us. It's our actions. What you have now you've earned, so mind that well._

_As for our sire, a man callous enough to not even know he had at least two children is a pretty sorry carcass. If I never know who he was, I won't mourn over much. There's nothing of him that matters in you or me. _

_You're not uncle material yet, brother. By the way, Casavir still gets cross at the idea. If you thought he was overprotective of me, try him around Marrin. So paladins aren't perfect!_

_I first look after who've proven themselves to me…or at least haven't given me cause to doubt. But I know by your reading this, you're getting there. Blessed fortune of Tymora, and see you soon._

_Lianna_

I had to believe she was right: blood didn't define us. If it did, everything I was trying to make of myself now was for naught. After all, as I got older, I realized what my few dim childhood memories meant: my mam chasing me out to play in the woods even in the dark, the odd sounds from her corner when I'd been too scared to leave, all the "uncles" who came only after supper. She'd been the village good-time girl, and a drunk besides. That was a far cry from the bloodlines of a paladin of Tyr, even a temporarily vulnerable and powerless one.

Still, finally I thought I believed what they'd all been trying to tell me since Duncan Farlong had saved my life. Whatever my blood, my past; my future was only mine to write.

I opened the parcel next and shook out the deep slate-grey dyed wool of a thick autumn cloak. I looked at it, puzzled, as a paper-wrapped object fell from its folds and hit the floor with a tinny _plink_.

I crouched down to retrieve it. Opening the paper, I saw she'd scrawled on it as well. Glancing at the simple silver-and-garnet cloak pin it contained, I read the note.

_PS: You know that gem was worth too much for the gates. So I'm returning some of it to you now. _

_The pin has some heavy protective magic on it in case you run into trouble, and the colors should suit your faith. _

_The cloak's just to keep you warm, since you don't seem to have the sense to buy one. It does get cold, you stupid idiot, and I really got tired of hearing you sniffling constantly. So just wear the damn thing and do us all a favor._

I couldn't help laughing, and almost missed someone saying my name. "Bishop Rettikar?" A low female voice hailed me.

"Yeah," I answered idly, still distracted. That lasted as long as it took for me to be nudged by the aura coming in range.

I glanced up at the paladin and immediately thought that Casavir must have been kidding me. This was a woman…a half-elven woman…a half-elven woman paladin. He'd known full well what he was putting me up against, and he'd done this deliberately. _Paladin honesty, yeah right…__don't count on a Yule gift this year, __brother_. I looked at her, careful to not seem too interested.

Not much to her: she was just over five feet tall. So she barely came up to my shoulder. She at least had the stockier frame of her human parent, though, plus the inevitable muscle from a paladin's life. Malin, by comparison, had been fragile as a twig. My age, maybe a little older—it was always hard to judge with half-elves.

Her bright auburn hair was in a no-nonsense warrior's braid, showing off the slightly pointed ears. But the dusting of very human freckles over the sharp ridge of elven cheekbones, the big, doe-brown eyes…she looked almost ridiculously harmless. Only the ease with which she wore the weight of her chainmail, and the well-worn look of the sword at her belt, said otherwise. "Eh…you're the one I'm meeting, I assume."

She nodded, now smiling. "I am. Brienne Starfire." She held out a hand, and I felt the strength and swordsman's calluses in her grip. "Thank you for offering your guidance."

"Glad to help," I muttered. "So, care to let me know where in Faerûn you're going?"

"Casavir didn't tell you?" She raised an eyebrow, shaking her head in surprise.

"No, he pretty much just asked if I was willing to help a friend of his out." That made me sound like a total incompetent shit-for-brains as a scout, not even asking for basic details. _Thanks, paladin_.

She looked me over at that with a too-knowing glance. "Luskan. Have you a problem with that?"

"What purpose have you got in Luskan?" I flung it right back at her. If she meant to go try and play friends with the High Captains, I'd probably rather rot in Nasher's dungeons. I'd sooner play politics with a venomous Amnian khebra.

Gods, they _had_ to train paladins to give that piercing glower. She finally nodded. "Saving those I can from it. You know the city?"

Well now, that was a loaded question, with too many bitter answers. A harsh laugh escaped me before I could help it. "Yeah, well enough."

"Good. Then you understand." She gave me a taut smile. "The bosses of the Docks ward are quite upset. Some local slaves—call it honestly—in this last year were led away in the night. The workhouses, brothels, and the like are not pleased. I believe there's a bounty of eighty thousand dragons on the responsible party, alive or dead. There's some that swear as it's a spirit, though." An arched eyebrow let me know that she viewed that with some amusement.

"Ah." I let myself smile in return. I would have laughed again, but this time out of sheer glee. I'd beat Casavir at his bloody game yet; he had no clue of my life in the Docks district earlier this year. No idea, either, that now he'd sent me on an assignment right up my alley.

And if this was a paladin capable of understanding that sword-waving and proclamations didn't solve everything…hey, we might even get on pretty well. By the sound of it, she was capable of more than a little subtlety and stealth. "You care to explain why you need a guide if you've made this run before?"

Her chin lifted a little. "I know the way, aye. But two work better than one; I need someone to aid me and cover my back. I won't peddle lies, Bishop. It's a dangerous bit of work. Charessa, my last partner, caught a poison arrow in the lung and died on the trek south. Even everything I know of healing couldn't save her." An oddly vulnerable look crossed her face. "I had to bury her just inside Neverwinter territory—in the forest." It hit her deep, obviously.

"It's always treacherous turf north of the border—I know the land, and I know the risks." Luskans were dangerous when you goaded them. After all, they left me to bleed and burn for my trouble, just five years back.

"And you're still willing to go in on this with me?" Somehow I got the sense this wasn't an invitation to just go the once. If I performed up to expectations, I'd probably just found a new calling. Well, the Docks ward was the sorriest heap in the filth that was Luskan. It made the stuff I'd fought against here in Neverwinter look laughable. Any kind of vice or crime imaginable flourished there like putrid mold. And every bit of it was for sale, down to the worst depravities imagined by mortal minds. All that mattered was if your coin was sound.

"Yeah. I am."

She offered me her hand again. A little confused, I took it. Her grip tightened, and she looked directly in my eyes. "Then so be it. But here's more truth for you. If I insult you by saying this, I'm sorry, but I don't know your mettle. Not yet. If your courage breaks, you have the right to flee. I'll find another candidate." Her nails bit a little into the back of my hand. "Be certain of this, though. You'd better run, because too much is at stake. I'd kill you rather than let you betray those poor wretches and what slim hope I can give."

My breath caught. She knew, the bloody cow, she had to—talking about fleeing, betrayal? I forced myself to calm down. If I looked like a fox in a trap, she'd reject me and send me packing back to Casavir and Lianna. "Do you say that to all your prospective partners?" I gave the question a mocking edge.

"So far," she answered with a flash of humor in her eyes. "But Charessa proved true. Tymora willing, my luck stands two for two with you. Supper's about ready, and then I suggest you rest well. We ride north in the morning."

"Wait, _ride_?" I called after her retreating back in dismay. I hated riding. Janneth, ever so bloody helpful, probably would have suggested it was because of one of my few childhood memories. Namely, a two-day gallop over the Neverwinter-Luskan border tied hand and foot. I'd spent it slung over Jorik's saddlebow, its hard edges digging into me with every movement, choking on the coarse grain sack thrown over my head and my own puke. Then I had to add another day and a half with the broken leg he gave me, trying to not scream in agony, to that tally.

Yeah, safe to say I didn't hold much fondness for horses. Well, maybe in a good stew with carrots and kahlcres.

I still found myself following her to the Bell and Star stables just after dawn. Karnwyr, as ever, was laughing at my discomfort. Brienne led me into the row of stalls, smelling of fresh hay and sweaty animals then paused at one and nodded to its inhabitant. "This is Eluthje," she said with more than a hint of pride. "My bonded companion."

I looked the horse over as she poked her head over the gate. I was no judge of them, really. But I admitted she was a pretty fine looking beast. Dark storm-cloud grey coat, gleaming with health, and a black mane and tail.

"Isn't she a bit big for you?" I said it without thinking, looking at the two of them together. Brienne probably should have been riding something smaller and less…well, less gods-damned huge.

The mental nudge from the horse to communicate with me was more like the force of a slap. "I am warrior," Eluthje insisted, ears flattening against her head, showing her teeth. "And so, companion too for warrior. You like to fight _either_ of us, little wildling?"

I remembered then that paladin's mounts were actually warhorses. Like a ranger's companion, they fought alongside their bonded in battle. Not built as monstrously huge as a knight's battle-destrier, though, since paladin horses obviously needed speed and endurance to go on the trail as well. Still, eyeing over a half-ton of teeth, hooves, and muscle, I thought better of running my mouth. She could pulp me like a melon.

"Sorry." I took an involuntary step back. At my apology, Eluthje relaxed visibly.

"You know enough," Brienne chided a bit. "You've a companion of your own. And I imagine you'd react badly if I insulted him." Ha, I insulted the fleabag plenty. But no; she was right. Anyone trying to mock Karnwyr—except me—was going to suffer.

"All right, I'm sorry. But I haven't dealt much with paladins, all right? And hells, Casavir didn't have a companion," I protested. It made me wonder why all of a sudden. Not holy enough for Tyr's taste?

"He didn't have much chance to take one with him, I imagine," Brienne said idly, as Eluthje butted her shoulder affectionately. "He was in the mountains, so I hear, and then you were going through rough terrain and forest, and into caves and barrows and whatnot."

"And how," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"Not much call for a horse, then. The poor thing would have been left chewing oats in the stable a lot. And that's not a good way to begin such a friendship. Tyr sends a paladin his companion only in good time."

And so, put in my place by both the paladiness and the mare, I almost laughed when I saw the beast the hostetler directed me to. A chestnut gelding who eyed me with placid disinterest; I had sudden fellow-feeling for him. We'd both apparently lost our balls.

With that happy thought to cheer me on the journey north, I took the reins in hand and followed her towards the city gates. At least messing with Luskan was in the offering. That made this whole thing worth bearing.


	9. Crash 'rated light M'

_**Lianna**_

_Marpenoth 1_

Peace and quiet, I had decided, were worth their weight in gold. All right, so you couldn't weigh them exactly, but the point remained. If only I had them now, life would be perfect. The last month at harvest had been an absolute frenzy, and it seemed like Cas and I were up at dawn each day to help the inhabitants of our lands out. Not that I was complaining; it wasn't in my nature to sit behind castle walls. Besides, it gave the farmers a chance to see that their lord and lady weren't just warriors and could get their hands dirty on more mundane tasks.

It was a harvest well worth celebrating. Two years ago I'd just taken over the Keep from Luskan occupation, and almost all the farmers had fled. Those brave souls who had come here to help rebuild had seen their homes once again destroyed last autumn when Garius' army came to storm the castle. This was the first successful harvest under my watch as castle commander. I was more than a little sorry that I had missed so many of the early months of rebuilding in Rashemen. It was a sore point for me—Casavir even more so, I was well aware—that we hadn't been here for the people whose lives had been placed in our care.

And it wasn't like I had much to look forward to in coming tendays either. At the end of the month, it was off to the Vale to commemorate the first anniversary of our final battle. Then to Neverwinter to deal with Nasher, politics, a royal wedding, and a bunch of other things I sarcastically filed in my mind under "noble obligation crap". I wasn't looking forward to any of it, really. The former was just going to keep me thinking about too much blood and pain and sacrifice: a mindset I'd got far too familiar with lately. The latter—that was just going to be a massive pain in the ass.

The problem started when I'd thought about holding a large Harvest Fair at the Keep for our tenants to celebrate. We finished harvest at the end of Eleint in Cloverton, near the western border of Crossroads Keep's lands. And the locals insisted that after we'd worked in their fields that day, that Cas and I attend their Harvest Fair. Touching gesture; I was familiar enough with village life to know that they didn't invite anyone to celebrate among them unless they felt it was deserved.

That evening had changed my mind about idea of the big festival. I had happily lost myself in a familiar world. I ate the excellent food, arm-wrestled half the village, laughed at their bawdy jokes and gave some back, drank a little too much, and danced until I was fit to drop. And as I lay down in the guest room of Kiriss and Falla Tanner's cottage, the warm glow of belonging wore off. I found myself with a sudden lump in my throat, and I'd burst out crying in a bawling heap in Casavir's arms.

It was too clear: the memory of West Harbor, of the rich, spicy-sweet taste of pumpkin ale, apple tarts, Georg's horrible singing, and the cheerful brawls. The first Harvest Fair I'd been to since the one that had changed my life forever, three years back, apparently hit too close to home. The home that was a ghost town now, just crumbled ashes like my childhood idyll.

The Tanners had come running, probably wondering what kind of bastard young Lord Casavir was that his wife was suddenly weeping uncontrollably. His concern for me had made him show his roots; he'd initially stumbled on his words like the shy, awkward fisherman's son he still was underneath all the schooled grace. I came to understand more than ever that night that those he loved were the only ones who could cause him fear. He'd finally regained his control, found the paladin's charms. While I was still gibbering, he reassured the farmer and his wife that he hadn't been smacking me around. He'd then channeled enough energy into his calming aura that it actually put me to sleep.

So I'd woken this morning to the noon sun in my eyes, groggy like I'd drunk a whole bottle of Harbor _whiechet. _Swearing I'd kill him for knocking me out like that, I rolled over towards the edge of the bed. I hadn't even known he was _capable _of it. Two things happened right then: I saw him sitting by my bedside, and recognized that somehow, I was in our bed at Crossroads Keep.

Stumbling to my feet, I saw his bleary expression matched my own. "How," I said carefully, trying to not throttle him, "did I get back here?"

He cleared his throat nervously. "I thought it best that we return." His real thought came across loud and clear: _We scared our hosts more than enough_._I didn't want to bother them further. _Close on that thought's heels came another one: _I thought that afterwards, you might want to wake up somewhere familiar._ I looked away from his too-perceptive gaze, unsettled that I was so easily read.

"You rode _five hours _in the middle of the night?" Through the rain too; no wonder he looked exhausted. Not to mention that trying to explain to the Greycloaks why their lady was passed out and coming home in the wee hours must have been a treat. At least I knew he hadn't tried to fob them off by claiming I was drunk. There were a few advantages to a husband who couldn't lie.

He nodded tiredly, his head almost sinking onto his chest. "Khosatek was up to it." The black-and-white painted horse that Casavir had bought from a trader last month had made people wonder what on earth a paladin was doing with a mundane horse when traditionally he could expect one as a bonded companion. Not to mention buying one that was obviously no proper war-horse, but a smaller, swifter Rashimari. Still, Khosatek more than made up for it with his spirit. I knew the truth; my husband was a soft touch for underdogs. I liked him for that. "I brought Raiyad as well," he added, and I relaxed a little to hear my own horse was taken care of.

I hesitated, feeling the spirit-wound opened last night almost like a physical thing, still raw and seeping. I thought I'd moved past it, but like a badly healed injury, all kinds of rot and corruption were still there, ready to overwhelm me. And I didn't want him probing at it.

He may have said that my soul was good, but maybe he was being blinded by love, and a simple lack of evil didn't mean my spirit was aglow with health. I'd lost too much against the King of Shadows, and after that, thanks to Akachi and the Founder, my soul had endured being ripped away and then torn to shreds by that damnable curse. Now, after months of lying to myself that I was all right, I was finally being forced to admit that there were holes left in it. Too many losses and too much battle had left some hollows, and maybe there were pieces of me that I had never recovered in Rashemen. And what was left seemed too threadbare and thin, too stitched together. It couldn't possibly stretch to cover the gaps. There were times when I almost thought I felt a bit of that dark hunger in me. I couldn't devour souls, gods be praised for that. But the craving to somehow fill the missing parts of me was stirring.

And here was my husband, with the piercing sight of truth and the urge, for well or ill, to give his help to someone in need until he either succeeded or collapsed. Maybe he'd even seen some of this phantom pain in me the day Bishop returned. I should have known when I called for blood that day rather than mercy that something was wrong with me. I was beyond fear that he'd judge me for what I now was, but what I did fear was his compassion. If he stepped in to aid me, I had the sinking feeling he'd never be able to stop. This couldn't be healed with a prayer and a touch. And once I let myself fill my emptiness by leaning on his strength, relying on his compassion, would I ever _want _to stop? I shuddered at the thought of it. I'd be a soul-eater all over again, feeding on his love and draining his spirit so I could survive. I knew plenty about parasites, and knew damn well I didn't want to be one.

I admitted I wasn't entirely selfless. There was simple pride in it too. I didn't want his pity, didn't want to use him as my crutch. I'd endured unthinkable stuff already. Now that I'd taken the first step and admitted that I was broken, I could try and patch my own wounded soul.

I was ready to go on the offense and distract him, when he stood, a small smile tugged at his lips. "Marrin would like to see you, I'm sure. We've been away a lot this last tenday." We'd reluctantly left her here with Elanee and Daeghun: not a good idea to bring an infant around when everyone's attention was focused so much on harvest. All it took was one moment of inattention by the designated village babysitter. Madge and Lewy Jons had found that out one autumn to their grief when their little girl Kyla had fallen in the river and drowned.

That was yet another thought of West Harbor, even a bad one, and a fresh pang of pain came with it. "Of course I'll see her," I said, too harshly. "You don't think I'm ignoring my own girl, do you? I'm not Daeghun." Please the gods I wouldn't be.

His brows rose in surprise, and he nodded. Politely, a little distant: like back in the days when he'd been keeping his own secrets from me. "I didn't mean to put you unconscious. Forgive me."

"It would have been nice to know you could do that back in the day," I couldn't resist.

"I don't think I could." He smiled wryly, looking at me with some intensity. "I had too many doubts, too little focus. Inner turmoil's been the downfall of many." With that very non-cryptic verbal thrust, he left. I managed to squash the urge to throw something at the door after him.

"Subtle," I snarled. He couldn't have just said, _Well, Lianna, you seem to be having a little problem. Want to talk?_ At which point, threats of Falyris clawing his eyes out if he didn't mind his own damn business might have been in order. No, I did _not _want to talk about it. I favored the Harborman's course of action. Namely, if you can't lick your problem, go beat the shit out of something else. Not your wife or kids, gods forbid, but the nearest pile of wood needing chopping or the like. Daeghun had never held much with it, since the energy and brute strength of humans always puzzled him a bit, but I'd come to embrace that village remedy.

So I spent the rest of the first day of Marpenoth beating the snot out of some hapless Greycloaks at dagger fighting. I only quit when Light-of-Heavens told me bluntly that they were exhausted. Then I spent the evening with Cas and Marri, grateful that he didn't drop any more oh-so-helpful hints on me.

In fact, he said nothing about it. He treated me like when I'd found him after Old Owl Well and I could barely get two words from him: cool and courteous. To be honest, I thought that suited me just fine instead of nagging. In the next three days, I chopped the entire woodpile and asked the Greycloaks to get more to prepare for the coming winter. I trained mercilessly: swords, bow, daggers, and my bare fists. Sometimes it worked and I was myself again. Other times, it did nothing to ease the knots inside me.

The first touch of brisk weather hit on the fifth, when I was in the hayloft furiously pitching hay down for the horses. I'd worked up a sweat already when he came in, leading Khosatek by his halter. They usually went for an early morning ride. "Good morning," I called, not even pausing in my task.

He looked up at me, sweeping away a few wisps of hay from where they drifted down onto his head and shoulders. "Morning," as he turned towards his horse's stall.

I finished, judging I'd tossed down enough, and leaned on the pitchfork, watching him below. He groomed the Rashimari, brushing him down with steady strokes. I watched the rhythmic movement of his hands, careful and gentle, as I felt the first stirrings of desire. Some people might think watching a man groom a horse was a strange thing to make you randy. Well, I always liked a man who knew how to handle animals. Besides, I remembered how those same two hands felt on _me _all too well. I realized it had been well over a tenday now since we'd slept together. During harvest, we were too tired and often bedding down in strangers' homes. And since then I'd been keeping my body and mind busy to the point where I just dropped into bed and fell right asleep at night.

Well, I wasn't exhausted now. And this wouldn't be the first time I'd jumped him in the stables. During the war, it left us feeling pleasantly naughty to sneak up to the hayloft. The slight risk of getting caught just made it all the more fun.

I would have crept down the ladder and started things before inviting Cas back up here. But sneaking up on a man in an enclosed stall with a horse was just going to spook the horse and lead to trouble. I looked over the edge and waited until he had left the stall and closed it. As he hung the brushes back up, I called down, "Hey, stableboy!"

"Yes?" He looked up at me.

"Wanna come rub _me_down?" I grinned at him.

He gave a deep, baritone laugh, and I heard the creaking rub of the wood as he climbed the ladder. Lying on the hay, prickly as it was, had never been a problem if offered a suitable distraction. A man who knew how to kiss was a pretty good one.

He obviously was feeling the lack as well; things were progressing in a pretty good hurry. His shirt, in my haste, actually ended up off the edge of the loft. "Oops," I chuckled against his throat. "Hope that didn't land in a stall."

He let out a snort of amusement, but he was good enough to not toss my linen breastband in revenge after he had it unfastened. Though, of course, his attention was pretty focused on other matters. There was definite advantage to sticking with one man: he knew what drove you crazy.

The polite paladin courtesy of the last three days was nowhere in sight as he cupped my breasts, then ran his hands down my sides, kissing my skin eagerly. I returned the favor, running my hands over the lithe turn of muscles, teasing him with kisses and a playful nip or two.

He stopped suddenly, leaning on an elbow. His eyes—I always loved the startling blue of them—were filled with obvious desire, but that was at war with the concern in his features. "I've missed you these past days," he admitted softly.

_Oh no, don't start_, I thought. _Don't ruin this. _A bucket of cold water couldn't have done better. I kissed him, hard and openmouthed, trying to turn his attention back where it belonged.

He was stubborn, though, and once you set a paladin on something, they never gave up. "I've just been…worried about you," trying to soothe me with little caresses. But he touched the scar. It had been little more than a thin pink line before my brutal "surgery" in Rashemen. Now it was an ugly purple span of shiny, puckered scar as long as my hand and over a finger's width broad. And it was entirely numb. Sensation abruptly stopping as his fingers crossed it. As he said the words at the same time, I felt like he'd driven all the breath from my lungs.

That scar meant everything I'd suffered: my mother's sacrifice, Daeghun's repressed affection, the King of Shadows, Akachi and his crusade, my lost friends, my lost village, my lost innocence…it made for a very long list. And he'd been dumb enough to call my attention to the physical wound just as he was probing at the spiritual one.

Oh Mielikki, if I let him, he'd listen. He'd be gentle and understanding and sweet. He'd shoulder my burden as his own. I couldn't bear the thought of it, couldn't bear the compassion I saw on his face. And suddenly I couldn't bear him touching me lovingly like he had been. I might break down.

The urge to cry lurched into the urge to scream at him. All I'd been after was some fun in the hayloft, a little laughter, some pleasure. I just wanted something I could enjoy after the nine hells I'd been through in the last few days. Nothing too extraordinary, nothing too selfish, but he had to ruin things by butting in where he wasn't wanted.

I stared at him, not sure in that moment whether I loved or hated him. But I still wanted him. _You're pushing where you're not wanted, _I thought,_so you owe me. You're still going to give me what I want._

Something must have shown on my face, because he looked baffled, dropping his hands from me. "Lianna? Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine," I said as I pushed him back to lie on the hay. I took a few seconds to slip off my undertrews, and then straddled his hips, my skirt hiking up around my thighs.

Helpful as ever, although he still gave me a few confused glances, he made short work of the lacings on his trousers and then his undertrews. Well, despite my interrupting the proceedings, he was definitely ready and eager. So was I; all it took was a quick movement to guide him inside me.

With that intimacy established, he seemed to think the whole deal was back on. He reached up to touch me again. I caught his wrists in my hands, pressed them back down and pinned his arms alongside his head.

I knew his strength all too well. He could have easily broken my hold on his wrists, thrown me off of him in a heartbeat. The only thing keeping him under my control was his own willingness. And he submitted to it, as utterly unsettled as he looked.

It wasn't that we were naïve and that sheer novelty alarmed him. Things got rough sometimes; humans were animals, after all. The night before the siege, we'd practically brought the battle to our bed. He'd put his armor on over deep scratches on his back, while I was sporting some rising bruises. At other times, he'd even mocked his former self by making it into a game. He'd brought his "Yes, my lady" obedience to bed more than once.

But this was different, and both of us knew it. There was no sport in my taking control this time. Maybe I meant to prove a point and make sure he knew that I was serious about him not bothering me. Maybe I just wanted what I could get out of it. I didn't hurt him, of course, but as I moved hard against him, it took me some time to realize that my awareness of him was dim. He could have been anyone; all that mattered to me in that moment was that the man had a cock and I could use it.

He tensed first, straining against me, and I almost felt a sense of victory in that as my own pleasure sprang forth. Savoring it, my thighs relaxed around his hips, and I let go his wrists. After a few seconds of breathing hard and smelling musk and sweat and hay and horses, I finally looked at him. There was a split second where his eyes seemed to flash with the darkness of storm-clouds, though his expression was neutral.

The panic hit me, my own sense of confusion. I moved off him in a hurry. What the hells had I just done? This hadn't been any kind of game. I'd just fucked my husband like he was a whore I'd hired, and he knew it. A panicked apology hovered on my lips as he redid the laces of his trousers with clumsy fingers. Somehow, I couldn't quite force it out. My own gods-damned fear kept it bottled up. I'd have to tell him everything then.

I just sat in the hay, frozen in indecision. Half-naked and my skirt still hiked up around my thighs, my arms crossed over my breasts. I seemed unable to do anything but shiver as the warmth of exertion evaporated.

His haste matched my inaction. It was barely more than a minute before he brushed the hay off himself and made his escape down the ladder. Stupidly, I called down, "Is your shirt all right?"

"It's fine," he said. The polite paladin tone was back. But the door closed behind him with more force than was needed. The moment he left, it was like a spell broke. Diving for my own clothes, cheeks suddenly burning, I got dressed in a hurry.

He didn't say anything about it that day, or the next. I tried to make a peace offering the next night, tried to relax and enjoy it. Didn't work; the same animal panic came back, the same urgent need to hide myself. It wasn't long I found myself begging him to just _get to it_. With a deep sigh, as I avoided his eyes, he did.

The guilt cut me deeper with every passing day. Every time I kept him at arms' length, the need to feel something tripped me up. So I went to him, but fear made sure I kept it just physical. The remorse always followed, and the shame. I slipped further into the darkness, and the thought of being exposed to a paladin's shining light became ever more impossible. So I turned further away, withdrew a little more. And the more alone I felt, the more urgently I needed him. It was a nauseating, vicious kind of cycle.

If I'd been totally alone, I glumly thought I might have hanged myself in despair. I needed him with me desperately right now. But I just couldn't let him get too close. He had sworn himself to me when I was a different woman, both of us unaware of my future. He was stuck now. He was a paladin and they kept to vows, no matter the cost.

Each time I looked at him, I wanted to ask _how _he could stand it. He obviously wasn't enjoying himself either except in the basest sense. And yet, each time I asked, pleaded, commanded—he loved me, so he gave me what I wanted.

Eight days had passed since what had happened in the stable, each day more miserable than the one before. I watched him that eighth night, unable to fall asleep myself. Reaching over, I brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, feeling perilously close to tears. "I'm sorry," I whispered to him while he slept. "You didn't ask for this." Neither had I, but despite everything, I knew I was already dragging him down with me. How long would it take me to ruin anything that was good between us? How long to destroy him? I didn't know. If I couldn't fix myself, maybe I'd have to leave, if he couldn't. Before I hurt him even more, and before I someday hurt Marrin.

Sitting there, knees drawn to my chest and resting my head on my arms, I watched his quiet, slow breathing. I wondered what he dreamt about that night. He was sleeping quietly, so he must not have been dreaming of the dark thing I had become. Maybe he was dreaming of a sweeter time between us to counter the nightmare of our reality.

Maybe it was our first time in the Neverwinter Wood? Greengrass, less than a year and a half ago—it seemed like an eternity now. Whatever he was experiencing, it must be a good dream, the sort I hadn't experienced in months. Wistfully, I wished I could. Escape, even at night, might keep me sane. It took a few seconds, but memory nudged me. I could do it.

I had the Dreamer's Eye that Gann had taught me. I hadn't used it except for the few times it had proved necessary in Rashemen. Just barging in on the intimacy of people's dreams seemed a terrible invasion of privacy to me. I had almost forgotten I had the skill to dreamwalk. I hadn't even told Casavir, almost sure he'd think it was a fearful ability. Paladins weren't big on the idea of anything that could manipulate a person's mind or soul.

But I found that I longed to look into his dream. I'd twisted things between us in the waking world. I wouldn't get involved, unlike Gann. Nosy bastard seemed to think nothing of meddling. I just wanted to see. Something happy or peaceful might give me an anchor; help me remember who I had been rather than what I had become.

Mind made up on that score, I put my hand on his shoulder to center myself on him, and slowly opened my dreaming eyes.


	10. What Dreams May Come

_**Lianna**_

_Marpenoth 13, 1386 DR_

I opened my eyes to a dark fog thick enough I could barely see my hands in front of me, and the susurrating sound of a hundred voices making for a din like waves crashing in a roar onto the sand. Not exactly the pleasant dream I'd expected, I had to admit. This was more like the red swirls of madness I'd seen in the Skein.

I shut my eyes; the darkness was unnerving, like oily smoke. _Any direction's good_, I thought, stepping forward carefully.

I felt it as a wisp of the mist traced its way across my wrist, and suddenly became a solid thing, snagging me. I tried not to scream, yanking frantically. As it tightened its hold, one voice grew louder and distinct from the rest of the dull roar. I recognized it as the cultured tones of Neverwinter elite, but I didn't know the voice. "You can't think to train him; you can't make a paladin out of a child that's almost a barbarian." It released its grip, leaving a trail of cool damp where it had gripped me.

Shuddering, I scrubbed my wrist and edged forward another step: got caught around the knees this time. A woman now, a melodic voice made harsh by obvious cold anger. "Do you _hear_ me? Control yourself, apprentice. Master your emotions else I no longer have anything to teach you."

Step again, bracing against the thick rope—oh gods, this one was going to be bad—that caught me around the waist and almost yanked me off my feet. "You dare to call yourself a paladin?" This was a young man's furious shout. "Thank the gods Mordren told me; I knowall about what you've done!"

"Harcus, please, calm down…" Casavir's voice pled in answer, tight with panic.

"Can't control your lusts around a lady? You're gutter trash, and now you'll die like it."

"Let me expl—"

"You can save a little honor and die fighting, or I can just run you through." The ringing rasp of a sword drawn from its sheath, and it let me go.

With that, I ran like a pack of hellhounds was behind me. Heedless of direction, just running on a panicked animal need to escape from the mist that was grabbing, blinding, choking me..._get out, get out now or I'll die here._

I heard Bishop's arrogant drawl next, the grasping tendrils stinging as they hit but didn't catch hold. "Oh, paladin, leave the wench to a realman."

Was I running in circles? "It's like he's not even human."

"So, the fallen apprentice of a fallen master."

"Justice can't be biased by emotion, Casavir. It's your duty."

The shadow priest hissed, "Surely you recall how they died, paladin. These mountains have been covered in blood since your arrival."

"Such _passion_, but you have no use for it, do you? Not with the sword at your side…or the other one either," Blooden chuckled. "Ohh, you're wasted in your temple's walls, paladin."

"Perhaps we were mistaken in you. If the base material is flawed…well…"

"_Katalmach_, you pay today in blood," Logram snarled in my ear.

"I love her, more than I love my own life, and I can say nothing of it." Cas sounded like a man staring at a vast abyss of his own defeat and despair. Who had he said that to?

I almost faltered when I heard my own voice shouting. "Do you ever feel anything at all? At least he has a heart, black and shriveled as it is!"

And then I burst out of the fog into the sunlight, almost blinding me. I stood, hands on my knees, panting. I wanted to laugh with relief. I wanted to start crying like an idiot. Mostly, I really wanted to throw up.

I looked back over my shoulder. A thick pine forest stood where the mist had been, but I still heard the sound of it in my ears. "Stupid," I hissed to myself. "You should have known better." Being calm and centered was essential to successfully roaming the dreamscape. One of Gann's first lessons, that: most dreamwalkers instinctively bridged to a mirror of their own inner state.

"So, does that mean you're desperately horny," I'd suggested peevishly, "that you end up haunting the dreams of lonely farmgirls?" Hit a little too close to home, that. I'd been one of those farmgirls a few years before. And yeah, now and again I'd woken with my breath fast and my body aching after dreaming about a man—they varied—very different from the village lunkheads.

It seemed depressing to think that ordinary boredom and some sexual frustration at holding out for a really decent man were my biggest problems back then. These days, that was laughable. I was upset, full of doubts and terror and all kinds of nasty things that went bump in the night. Small wonder that I'd stepped into a like part of Casavir, and dumped myself right into the swirling hurricane of his own darkness.

And Mielikki, did he have a _lot_. I hadn't even heard more than a taste of it.

"What are you doing here?" I turned and saw Casavir standing there with an expression that was anything but welcoming. In fact, there was a faint gleam of hostility in his eyes.

"I…ah…" Yeah, this was probably not a great time to start babbling about dreamwalking and accidentally poking into shadowy corners of his soul. I settled for a meek and confused, "I'm not sure." True enough. By the looks of it, he had been alone on the clifftop behind him. I saw the glimmer of the sunlight on the ocean off on the horizon. So the roaring I heard wasn't the voices, but the waves crashing against the rocks below. Well, he wasn't exactly having the happy dream I'd expected.

He stared at me and laughed incredulously, resting his forehead on his fist. "Oh, gods. _Really_, Lianna? Not enough that I spend my waking hours playing stud, but now you can't leave me alone in my sleep? Even whores get to rest sometime."

I froze hearing that from him. Painfully blunt words, so unlike what I was used to. He couldn't have done better to have hit me physically, I thought, as two realizations hit me.

First: this was the dreamscape, full of both truth and illusion. They could create great illusions in surroundings, but the dreamer was usually truer than their waking self ever could be. So this was his feeling, raw and unfiltered through courtesy. At least there wasn't loathing in his expression—not yet. But I could see his anger, his humiliation.

Second: I'd screwed up by dreamwalking. He was right. I'd apparently already made his waking hours miserable by feeling entitled to use his body. And here I was trying to use his mind for my own purposes as well. I'd stripped away his last bit of privacy and dignity with this invasion. I'd already ended up poking into a few painful memories I wished I could give back.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, embarrassed for him, embarrassed for myself. "I won't come back…"

He let out an irritated sigh, gestured me to stop. "I conjured you here for some reason. And hopefully it's not that I'm finding a taste for pain," he added half to himself.

I didn't dare move closer, and couldn't quite look at him. "It might help?" I offered tentatively. If nothing else at least I'd know how he honestly felt after the crap I'd put him through.

I noticed he made no effort to come close enough for me to touch him. "Somethinghas to change, that I know. I've thought about strangling you more than once this last tenday. Now, aside from the fact that paladins simply _don't_ try to kill their wives—I almost worry you might enjoy it."

He said it, a half-scathing, half-funny remark, so matter-of-factly. I couldn't help it. I started laughing, and the dam burst again. Before long, my shoulders were shaking with a mix of giggles, sobs, the occasional hiccup as I tried to catch my breath…was this what hysteria felt like? I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, and somehow managed to say here in the dreamworld what I didn't dare in reality. "I think I'm going insane."

He just nodded, giving me no indication of how he felt about that. "Then someone sane needs to be there to catch your fall." The scene around us blurred, and I felt ready to throw up all over again at the dizzying whirl as his dreaming mind reshaped the scene.

When I dared to open my eyes again, I saw the clifftop we'd been on jutting out over the ocean about a mile distant. Then I turned and saw the flames.

"Where are we?" I yelped in surprise.

"My home village. Riverbirch Hollow."

"It's…destroyed?" Somehow I couldn't seem to come up with more than stupid, obvious comments right now. I was still on the fact that I'd somehow admitted that I was afraid I was losing my mind.

"You remember I told you that my parents died?"

"Yeah. They died of fever, so you were sent to Neverwinter."

"It wasn't just them. It was the entire village. Just six of us were left, all kids. Red ague doesn't kill anyone under ten or so. They put us in quarantine for two tendays and then we went to the temples to foster or to other villages." He turned his head to gaze towards the fire, the wind ruffling his hair. "When they took us away, they burned it."

"The houses?" I asked him. We were far enough away that all I could see was the flames dancing, terrible and red, in the crumbling timbers of buildings. But suddenly his memories took hold of the dream, reshaped it a little, and I could smell it all too well. I almost gagged. There was woodsmoke, yes, but the thick greasy scent of roasting flesh, the acrid char of hair…I knew that somewhere in the inferno, the bodies had become a funeral bier.

"You never forget the_smell…_" His breath caught in an abrupt hitch. "The Ilmaterian sister who cared for us cast a spell to help us forget until we were older. All I remembered was that my family died of the fever." He smiled sadly. "My parents and my sister—I was the youngest. They'd lost two children already."

"It came back, though." The haunted look on his face said it all. "It wasn't…it wasn't at Ember, was it?"

I thought back to how stricken he'd looked at Ember. Bloated, blackened, butchered corpses squirming with maggots and stinking in the blazing Flamerule sun…and he'd grimly insisted on burying every one of them. Shandra and I had agreed. Grave detail had been frequently interrupted: puke, drink water to replace what we lost from puking and sweating, go back to work.

I'd seen it again at West Harbor. Bishop's suggestion of just burning the bodies led to the first time I'd seen Casavir showing his temper. I'd been plenty pissed off at that suggestion. But hearing this? Gods, Bishop was lucky to have left with his head on his shoulders.

"I remembered when I was fifteen, with the Wailing Death. The first time I smelled a plague pyre burning in the square in Neverwinter." He didn't elaborate what had happened, but I could well imagine.

"Did you ever go back?" When he'd told me the name long ago, I'd seen that it wasn't on the map, though most tiny villages weren't. But unlike the rest, he'd never mentioned being nearby when we were on our travels. Even Bishop had confessed when we were near Redfallows Watch.

"What for, Lianna?" He gestured towards the flames, a look of desolation on his face. "The ashes scattered to the winds long ago. There's nothing for me there. I've only come back a few times in nightmares."

"Then why," I asked carefully, "did you just come here?" If I'd mired him in this kind of hellish mindset, I really had a lot to atone for. "The last tenday's sucked for you. I know. Why hurt yourself more with this?"

"Because it's pain enough to remind me what could be lost."

"And what's that?"

"My kinfolk fought a band of Luskans that Flamerule. They killed the raiders to the last man, to keep us kids from being stolen like Bishop was. But come Marpenoth, even the need to stay alive and protect us couldn't fight the plague." Now he turned to look at me, a look of fierce intensity on his face. "So is that it? You survive the fight just to fall to the plague you never expected?"

I felt the crushing weight of it all over again. "Plague" didn't seem too far off a description to the sickness come over my soul. "I guess fate just fucks you like that sometimes, doesn't it? Tyr, Torm, and their ilk got their piece of me, and now Cyric and his friends are calling in for their share."

"I don't accept that," he snapped, and I saw his hands clenched in fists. "The benevolent gods protect you, Lianna. And besides, _I _was the one Cyric wanted to torment." What? All right, he'd neglected to mention the part where he _heard the gods_, hadn't he? I stared at him, but like a boulder set in motion, he was on a roll and didn't notice.

"Maybe it's the price I pay for saving the people. One sacrifice made for so many…not so bad, right?"

Now he was actually shouting. I'd only ever heard that from him over the din of battle. "Ah, stop quoting that kinslayer Ammon Jerro, will you? People's lives aren't cheap little coins to trade!"

"Says the man who, when we met, was trying really hard to get killed to pay for taking a life," I snapped back.

"Yes, I spent four years thinking that all I could hope for was making my death count for something. I was _wrong, _all right? Do yourself a favor and learn from my stupidity instead of just repeating it like a gods-damned idiot!"

"And what if I can't just stop sliding further into darkness, no matter how hard I fight? This last tenday I've spent just taking what I wanted and not caring how I hurt you. That's how it starts, thinking nobody else matters. So do you start making excuses when I start hurting people? Turn a blind eye to my evil until I finally turn into my brother and you have to kill me?"

"I don't give up so easily, damn you! I can't sit by while there's something that needs me in the fight. That's why I was miserable in Neverwinter with just words, speeches…" He shrugged helplessly, his voice calming. "I found purpose for a time at Old Owl Well. But I finally felt alive fighting by your side, Lianna; you gave me hope and a battle to be won. Whatever this battle is, let me stand with you. I'm…not strong enough to lose you like that."

"It starts there," I said, feeling the bitter resignation creep into my voice. "I rely on your help because you'll let me, and then I actually start to need it…"

"So what in the _nine hells _do you think a husband is for?" he exploded again, eyes flashing. I almost felt myself cringe; a strong man working into a full-blown rage was something to give pretty much anyone with a lick of sense some concern. "No, never mind. After the last tenday, I've got the idea."

It was a nasty low blow, and I deserved it. That didn't mean his strike didn't sting me like a poisoned blade. I tried to hit back with explanation, because it was all I could do. "You'll save anyone who needs it, damn you! You'll stick with me long past the point you should just because your admiration suckered you in back in the day, and paladins keep their word."

"I swear to the gods, you're denser than a block of ironwood. My former admiration and my sense of obligation; is that all? Why is it so bloody hard for you to believe that I could just love you?"

"Because maybe I'm not wor—"

"Enough! After all this time, after all you've done." He grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. "_Listen _to me. Not one in ten thousand could have done the things you have. I couldn't. And I'm tired of your denying it. Why do you insist on believing you're just some farmgirl who barely knows what end of a sword to handle?"

That struck a nerve, and I lashed out with it. "Do they even know where you come from in Neverwinter? Or do they think you're just a whore's brat from the Docks?"

"How," he said carefully, realizing how hard he was gripping me and relaxing his hand, "does that have to do with this?"

"Answer the question," I challenged.

"Not really. I saw no reason."

"You just shut it away and don't think about it, do you? Hurts too much, except when you need to embrace the pain? I'll bet you don't even think about the good times you had, or dream about them. Well, maybe unlike you, I don't want some held-back tears to be all I've got."

Now I realized why the words about destiny and heroism made me so uncomfortable. If I was still just a country ranger, not a war hero, not a Neverwinter noble, I hadn't lost it all. That was my last bit of the innocent kid whose biggest worry had been restless boredom. The last little piece of the West Harbor that I'd come to realize only too late that I had loved.

He didn't rise to the bait. "This isn't about me. You've lost too much. And I wanted to believe that I could be enough to give you hope for the future. And Marrin too." He shook his head tiredly. "Maybe I was wrong."

"Cas…I think you're the only thing that's kept me from wanting to go hang myself this last tenday," I admitted, the words rough. Marri too, but much as I hated to admit it, of late the hope my love for her gave me was offset by her sheer dependence on me. She was both a raft keeping me afloat and a weight chained to my feet. Bishop? My blood brother, my betrayer…I couldn't count on him. All our other friends had left to start their own lives, justly deserved, of course. Casavir was the only one I had, the only one who'd been with me from when I was just a scruffy watchman. And as much as I'd sworn I didn't want to rely on him, I realized that the last tenday had been pathetic, scared attempts to keep hold of the only thing that made sense. I stared at the scuffed toes of my boots, blinking back tears.

"I need you." There. I'd said it, weak and ashamed and afraid as it made me. I waited for it, for this angry, defeated, tired man to hit me when I was reeling.

Instead, he drew me into his arms. There was no kind of desire in it, just the simple comfort of another person's embrace, a touch to say that I wasn't alone. And it felt better than any of the pleasure I'd stolen from him in the last tenday. It felt safe. Head on his shoulder, I felt about ready to start bawling like I had at Cloverton.

"Then I'm yours. You helped me through some of my worst days, before you even loved me. You think I'll turn away from you now?" He dropped his arms, found my hands and squeezed them in his own. "We'll fight this, Lianna." A roguish glint came into his blue eyes. "That's what we country hicks do best, right?"

I actually managed a smile at that. "We'll crack a few skulls, all right. I should go." It was too easy to lose track of time in the dreamscape, and if I didn't slip out of his dream to the waking world before he woke up, I'd be trapped, at least until the next night. And Gann had warned me; the longer one stayed, the more tenuous the grip on reality became. Too many people had gone into the dreamscape and never found their way back, until they believed the dream was reality.

It struck me then. Would that be such a bad thing? I could stay here, talk to him each night in complete honesty. No need for fumbling with the masks of the waking world, shyness or fear or pretense. Never go back to the pain of my reality, and never hurt him again with my mistakes? I could stay here, forever in an embrace like this. Gods, it was a tempting draught to drink.

As I felt myself weakening, another thought came from somewhere, cold and clear as crystal. _And you'll drive him to despair when he wakes up and you don't, and then to madness when you stay in his mind where you don't belong_. _You thought leaning on him was bad?_ I shook my head, trying to clear the dream haze and searching for the threads of myself.

I stretched up on my toes to kiss him, to give him my thanks. I saw how he flinched and drew back—he had to be thinking of what my kisses had meant in the last days, and he couldn't hide his feelings about it here. "It's…it's not like that," as I settled to just kiss him lightly on the cheek. "Do something for me?"

"What?"

"Find somewhere happier than this for a while." Sliding my hand down his arm, lingering for a few moments, I was still reluctant to let go. It seemed that after two and a half years, finding him here had told me that I still only half knew him. And this side to him, passionate and maybe a little too blunt, might have helped me more than his restrained gentleness would have. I started tugging gently on my threads to the waking world, locating the anchor of my reality. A little harder than normal, I noticed ruefully. I wasn't as tied to the earth and the world around me as I usually was.

Things blurred around us again, and the choking smell of fire faded to green grass and forest, a fresh salt tang from the sea. When I looked, the village was intact again, the timber-and-stone cottages shabby but snug-looking. Dusk was falling over the ocean, and it painted the water in the colors of fire.

From the path on the cliffs, a family came walking. A young woman, small and black-haired; a basket of fish balanced on the curve of one hip. Sune-kissed like me, I thought ruefully, the polite term for being rather generous in the hips and chest. Her man beside her walked with his nets in a heavy bundle over his shoulder, tall and broad and blond. "Not a good day. Maybe you need to come tomorrow and sing the flounder up for me, aye? They wouldn't resist that voice."

"Never you mind that, Dru," she said with a laugh, nudging him playfully with her shoulder as they walked. "We'll put enough by this year. We always do."

They moved on, talking, as two children followed behind. The girl, probably eleven and fair as her father, looked back at her brother, some four years younger, with some impatience. "Well, come on then. Or d'you need to be carried?" she mocked.

"Race you to the village," he answered, almost bouncing with sheer energy.

"Fine. Count of…" The boy was already off like a shot, and she started running to try and keep up. She almost knocked her parents over in her eagerness, bowling past them and shrieking about her brother cheating.

"D'you hear me?" their mother hollered. "Stop acting like wolves in the woods!" She turned to her husband and groaned. "And what do we do with the pair of them?"

"Start tossing them raw meat and bones?" he said with a hearty laugh I recognized. I'd heard it more than once. Casavir had his mother's black hair and blue eyes, and the height and strength of his father, made into a trim swordsman's build rather than a fisherman and farmer's brawn…I suddenly saw it. "Give no mind to it, Melli. They'll grow up soon enough, the two of them." Their words faded as they walked further down the path. Young Cas reached the pasture fence first and waited, sitting on it, until his sister arrived. She roughly tousled his black curls, and I could see the affection in the gesture.

"That's them?"

He nodded. "My parents, my sister Irenna and me, yes." He put his arm around me, drew me close. "I didn't forget. But…maybe I didn't want to remember." And then he gave me the kiss I'd wanted to give him.

I woke up with a start, tangled in the covers like a badger in a collapsed burrow. Casavir was still out like a poleaxed Uthgardt, but turning towards me even in his sleep. The first rays of dawn were stretching their fingers through the window like uncertain phantoms. He'd be up soon enough for his morning prayers and training. And I didn't want to talk to him about it, not just yet. Not when I'd have to explain what I was doing wandering in his dreams. But for the first time in days, I had some kind of hope.

As I got dressed, I felt the details of the dream rapidly fading, as they always did. I struggled to grasp hold of what I could and fix it in my mind. Most of it slipped away, though. "No easy route," I muttered as I went to go feed Marrin. I wasn't going to get away with just a nice chat with my husband in the dreamscape, problem solved. Chances were he wouldn't remember most of it either when he woke up. But with the fearless honesty we'd had there, maybe that dream had been just the thing I needed. I thought it might give me enough guts to have the conversation with him here in the real world.

I picked up our daughter and smiled at her. She smiled back, recognizing me. And I realized with a tinge of regret that I wished Casavir would show me a little more of the man I'd met last night.

He finally cornered me a little after noon. "Hi," I said, putting down the bow I'd been training with.

"I thought we could get out for the afternoon. Go fishing, maybe?"

"You want to go fishing," I repeated dumbly, wondering what he was getting at.

He nodded, smiling cheerfully as though the awkwardness of the last tenday hadn't happened. "Why not? The fire salmon are on their way upriver. There's nothing urgent at the Keep, so I thought it might be nice to go catch a few. I figured a ranger doesn't need too much encouragement to get out into the woods."

Fishing? Well, that could mean a few things. If he didn't take his dreams seriously, that could mean that he wanted to just do a Smite Evil out of the Greycloaks' sight.

It could mean that he'd taken my appearing in his dream as a good sign and wanted to talk. Or, to be honest, it could mean that he wanted to, well…_fish_, and show that despite everything, he wanted spend time with me.

Either way, it looked like his silent endurance act was up. I could only think that was a good thing.

"Sure," I managed, following him back up towards the Keep to get the fishing gear.


	11. Requiem for a Dream

_**Casavir**_

_Marpenoth 14, 1386_

Lianna said nothing to me the entire way out into the woods, the sound of her breathing and the crackling of leaves under her boots the only thing that told me she was there scarcely three steps behind me. Falyris flew over us, a great black shadow against the sun-dappled leaves of the trees, and I felt the faint mental itch as she tried to talk to me.

"Look after bonded?" The anxiety came across in her thoughts as clear as daybreak. "She not talk to me…"

I sighed to myself. _Me either_, I thought, though I didn't say it. It was unfortunately dawning on me of late how little my own wife confided in me. To be sure, she'd ask me about matters of the keep, the tenants, the Greycloaks, even our daughter. But when I considered—and gods knew, I'd pondered this thing the last tenday until I was about ready to just head down to the Phoenix Tail and pickle my fretting brain into calmness with a bottle of icewhiskey—we never talked much about her. Five months now since I'd found her in Rashemen, and I still only had the facts of what she'd endured; little of her sentiments about it. She'd told me the tale honestly and matter-of-factly on the way back to Ylrana to be sent home what had happened, and having done so, she seemed content to close the door on that ordeal. What little she'd told me of her fears after her outburst with Bishop was the closest I'd come to sharing whatever burden that might still linger.

But as for Falyris, the poor eagle was confused enough with matters as they stood; no need to burden her with more of our human foibles. "Of course I will. I want to help her."

Gods willing, if she'd let me. I had to believe that dream last night, where she had talked to me without guard or pretense, had to be some kind of sign. Reacting to her bizarre behavior with a scene where she gave me truth instead of silence or painfully empty seduction had still seemed so real.

Maybe I was trying to project my own desires onto the matter, but it troubled me that the deepest confidence I had ever shared with Lianna was in the desperate longing of my dreams.

But then again, I was no stranger to that idea. Two years ago I'd been busy dreaming of telling her of my love for her, of the privacy of her bedroom and how her skin might feel against mine. I'd had my fill of that sensation in the last tenday, and a bitter thing it was too.

Still, if she hadn't even been confiding in Lyris, though her bonded companion might not be able to give much wisdom for this situation—that told me how deep the troubles ran.

As we came upon the burbling waters of the Sweetsilver, the red and green-gold flash of the fire salmon that were leaping their way upstream was clear. All right, it was a little underhanded of me, since I knew Lianna loved salmon. Even last Marpenoth, getting ready for Garius; she'd had a moment of Yule-like delight when the villagers from nearby Hazelbrook came to shelter at the keep. Their contribution to the food supplies for a possible long siege was mainly fresh and dried salmon. So I'd made the offer, pretty sure that nothing short of being bit by a zombie would prevent her from coming fishing.

I'd teased her that day, seeing her so gleeful over fish, and suggested that instead of an eagle, maybe she'd have been better served by a wood bear as a companion. They could sit by the stream together every fall and eat salmon to their hearts' content. Falyris had given me a gimlet stare and informed me, "Eagles hunt salmon."

Thus re-educated on the creatures of the wild, I'd still filed away the notion of fishing for next year. I just hadn't imagined it would be like this.

I realized that I had to approach this carefully. She was in some kind of pain, and sometimes a wounded thing would just as easily bite a comforting hand as accept it. At least I knew I had better control over myself than my dream self had showed. Gods, what had I been thinking, yelling at her like that? Aye, what she'd done hurt and humiliated me, but that was no excuse to be hollering at her like that.

I didn't recall exactly what I'd said—nature of dreams, sadly, was that you forgot most of them shortly after waking—but I was pretty sure that I'd cursed and shouted more in one dream than I had in several years. More than a little embarrassing; I'd probably sounded like I was a stevedore on the Waterdhavian docks again rather than a paladin of Tyr.

Still, I had done it in my dream, and I was honest enough with myself to admit it wasn't too bad a depiction of my true feelings on the situation.

I had gone to the godswood this morning rather than Tyr's church. I needed more than the Evenhanded's aid this day. Ilmater for patience, Sune for love and kindness, Tyr for spiritual balance, Torm for courage: the entire circle of benevolent gods heard my prayers that morning. But right underneath the thin veneer of calm that my devotions lent me, I knew the anger and resentment were still simmering close beneath the surface.

I handed her a pole and set the box with gear between us, and we did precisely what I'd suggested: fish. Settling in by a shallow meander, it served to slow the swift-flowing current near the river's edge. That was enough for some of the fish to catch interest in the bait and lures and stop their furious swim to come over to investigate. Neither of us said anything except a few cheers at landing a good salmon, or a few comments about the tackle.

Maybe two hours passed, by my judgment of the sun's progress across the sky. The few glances she gave me were quickly tugged downwards once my eyes started to catch hers, like she was some demure country lass made shy. I'd hoped to maybe let her speak first, but clearly she wasn't ready for that. The air of nervousness was almost palpable around her. She was always energetic and rarely sat still; we all grew used to her habits when she was forced to stay still during meeting at the Keep—fingers drumming on the tabletop, toying idly with a quill, or the like. I was certain that more than one requisition left Crossroads Keep after having her embellish it with idle doodles. But today there was more than her usual small fidgeting; moving here and there around me, changing her hook, restlessly recasting her line.

The fish were biting pretty readily—not just the acrobatic fire salmon, but their large cousins, the emerald salmon. I tried to settle my own internal discord by relaxing into the simple pleasure of a fine autumn day and a good spot to fish. It had been a while; not since my days wandering the wilds, really. With Lianna, if food had to be caught for our entire group, hunting yielded far more meat than fishing in the river did in the same amount of time. Too bad we weren't at the coast; the shield halibut there were so named because a man could literally hide behind them.

Fumbling for something to break the silence and stop her twitching energy, I said as such to her. "Next summer, I ought to take you up north to the coast, to go find some shield halibut." Not exactly words for the ages, but I willed her to understand that I meant something by it. I wanted there to be a next summer for us, and a lifetime beyond that.

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she pulled in an emerald salmon on her line. Eyeing its large size, she carefully worked the hook loose from its lip and held it in her hands. She lowered it into the cold waters of the river, and I caught the sound of her giving a quiet blessing of Mielikki on the fish as it rejoined its cousins. That was the way of the Forest Queen and her followers. Unlike most people who would strive to take just the biggest and most impressive game, they deliberately spared them to hopefully breed equally strong children. "Shield halibut, huh? I hear they're pretty spectacular beasts."

"They put up a fight, that's for sure. But they're worth it, since they're quite tasty, and when you're talking a fish that weighs twice as much as a man, you can feed a village off one." I had a flash of memory, of the last time I'd tasted that fish. We'd had a shield halibut feast every Kythorn in Riverbirch Hollow, and the man who'd caught the fish was considered Tymora-favored for the next year. Gods, dreaming of my old home last night seemed to have stuck such thoughts in my head. But bittersweet as memory was, today I seemed to be able to remember something kinder than flames and burning flesh. "Funny looking creatures, of course; two eyes on one side of their head, flattened bodies that look kind of like someone squashed 'em."

She _tsk_'d, and the smile grew a little more. It was still tentative; as if she might bolt at any moment like an alarmed forest creature. Obviously she was as unsettled as I was, but at least the first words had been said. That was a start. "Every animal's got its place in Mielikki's graces, Cas, even the funny looking ones."

I smiled back, encouraged. "All right, you're the divine champion of the Woodswalker. You'll get no argument from me, Lianna."

Something flashed in her eyes at my words, an unreadable spark. She tugged her line out of the water, winding it up and carefully fastening the hook into the notch in the edge of the reel to keep it from flying around. She set the pole beside her on the riverbank and turned to face me for the first time that afternoon, wrapping her arms around her drawn up knees. "I know you won't argue with me." There was an odd edge in her voice at those words. "Enough, Cas. Salmon's fine and well, and we'll have a great dinner tonight, but there are more important things."

Silently I tended to my own line, adding one last fire salmon to the string. Much as I wanted to dive right into this conversation, I made sure to put the fish into the meander of the river we had sat beside, away from the swift current of the mainstream, to keep cool while we talked.

Sitting back down, I gestured for her to speak what she would. She wasted no time. "This last tenday's been awful for me, and for you too."

"Lianna, it's all ri—"

"Tyr's blind eyes, no, it's _not_," she snapped. "I've been horrible to you. I've hurtyou, I've humiliated you. And you're a paladin, so you can try and dance 'round it and say that you'll be fine or that you know I didn't mean it. But you can't lie and deny it!"

Well, not much to say to that. She was right on both counts. I couldn't lie. And I couldn't be melodramatic and say that this was the worst pain I had ever endured. The burning aura of dark malevolence and multiple sword wounds from the blackguard I slew during the siege of Neverwinter took that prize handily. But in some ways, this slow-spreading, dull hurt was worse. Physical pain was transient; this cut far deeper.

She was my wife: we had endured the unthinkable together, and I knew her well. For all her rough mannerisms, she had a soul that was nobler than any title could ever hope to be. There was no trace of that in the last tenday.

Maybe I should have protested more. Certainly she didn't force me into sex, by bindings, by black spell, or by blood geas. She didn't need to. My feelings for her caught me in the snare of doing her bidding far more neatly than any unwilling compliance ever would have. How could I do otherwise? But it hurt like the nine hells to see nothing in her eyes but an unsettling mix of greed and desperation, and to know with an unsettling certainty that I could have been anyone to her in those moments.

Perhaps it struck me so sharply because I had so little to compare it to otherwise. No other women before her for me, and less than eighteen months now since we'd taken vows before the gods under that linden tree. She'd been waiting for a man worthy of being her mate, as she put it in her blunt ranger's terms, like most females did in the wild. As for me, the knowledge that she loved me as I did her made us equal in our feelings, as paladin's code required. That fulfilled, we'd been more than happy to finally give way to the desire we had for each other—and to repeat that often as we could in the next months.

Of course, that bliss had to come in rare, stolen moments in between the stark reality of Garius and the King of Shadows. I could count on one hand the lazy afternoons alone in her bedchamber without someone having urgent business for either her attention or mine. That meant that we exercised some creativity to steal whatever time we could, and searched for any place that we could hide for a little while. We came back from walks in these woods suspiciously grass-stained and tousled. We'd sneaked into virtually every empty chamber in Crossroads Keep. We ended up in the stable hayloft more than once. We made use of the tower of the Nine, since Nevalle certainly didn't seem to.

Much as people assumed paladins were rampant prudes, the truth was that we learned that desire was natural and not shameful. It was only the things that many people resorted to in order to gratify those desires that were ugly—blatant lies, bad excuses, shirking responsibility, exploiting the helpless, abusing power and authority, adultery, rape. They turned a thing that should have been joyful into something sordid.

We'd been in the middle of a hellish war that neither of us expected to survive, and yet our stolen moments together were nothing but happiness. Peace had come now, and likewise, things had turned between us.

I'd have died for her. I loved her. And that meant accepting the sorrow with the joy, and not fleeing when it became hard to bear. Enduring some embarrassment when she was in such pain seemed a small price to pay. At least she still cared enough to not push me away entirely. But more and more, it seemed I was unsure where the line of standing by her versus standing by like a fool was to be drawn. Yet she seemed so fragile this last tenday. She'd endured so much, more than any human should ever be forced to bear. Was it just my own selfishness and lack of patience to blame? If I were to push her too hard...gods, I'd never be able to bear that guilt. But if I said nothing, did I actually condone her actions? Years ago I had learned from Oleff that patience was a virtue of the wise, but when it turned to inaction it became the province of cowards.

She felt terrible enough, by the look of it, that there was no need to fling the matter in her face further. I finally settled for not denying her words, but not exactly confirming them either. I simply acknowledged them. "What of it, then?"

"I aim to apologize for it. I think…maybe I'm starting to figure things out."

"Very well. Accepted. But Lia, do you think me a fool, to not see that you were suffering?"

She gave me a rueful smile. "Other way 'round. Too perceptive to not figure me out, too kind to not want to help, and too willing to let me lean on you to do it." It hit me with a strange pang to think that she trusted me so little. "I tried so damn hard to shove you away so I didn't let myself become a leech. It just made me into a bit of a bitch instead."

"We've fought enough battles together that I think you know that there's strength in you. You're in no danger of being a leech. You're far too reluctant to accept help. But my help is always yours for the asking." Couldn't she understand that if she'd just bring herself to tell me that she needed it, I'd do anything I could to aid her?

"I know. And…I'm gonna need it." She looked up towards the trees for a moment, giving a soul-deep sigh. "But before we have a tender moment here, there's another thing you ought to know, because I did something that was even worse to you. And I'm not proud of it, but please at least consider that it helped me see the truth."

It felt like all the air left my lungs: a thing that she was deeply ashamed of, but had helped her come to her senses? My mind immediately started reeling off the possibilities.

Well, killing someone in cold blood wasn't it. I'd have picked right up on the aura of evil emanating from her like stinking rot. I knew she hadn't harmed Marrin or Falyris in any way. It couldn't be a failure of the tenants or the Greycloaks that had shocked her into awareness—she said it concerned _me _specifically. That admission, frankly, was a hellish abyss to gaze into. She'd done enough damage to me already, and here she was confessing to something even worse that I had been absolutely unaware of.

I turned it over in my thoughts, gingerly as I would a blastglobe. She hadn't touched me at all yesterday, had looked vaguely uncomfortable. I knew I had been far from enthusiastic in response to her seductions lately. Had she possibly found someone else more willing than me to perform on command? It made horrible sense. The guilt I saw on her face, the fact that she'd admitted that having fallen to an unthinkable low had made her come to her senses, that she knew it would hurt me more than what had already passed.

I could forgive a great deal and recall the good times as protection against the bad. Gods knew I believed the best of her whenever I could. But if she'd done that—if she'd not only used me like some five copper skindancer, but then also betrayed me? The calm I'd managed thus far evaporated in an eyeblink. The rage came swiftly and overwhelmed me, like sailing out of the eye of a hurricane. I found myself suddenly thinking about the dagger on my belt, and using it. The idea horrified me, but I couldn't seem to banish it.

"Yes?" I managed, fighting for some control of myself, with little success. I heard the strangled sound of my own voice. The dam had burst, and I didn't remember having been so furious in my life. Not when Aribeth betrayed me, not when Bishop proved to be a gutless traitor. But I'd never given either of them the power to hurt me like I had for her. By the gods, if adultery was what she meant to confess to me, I was going to have to get away quickly. Otherwise I was half afraid I might actually try to kill her.

She heard something in my tone, because she visibly flinched. But she pressed on. "While I was in Rashemen…Gann…"

Gann? Gannayev Vissonov? Was she saying that the hagspawn had been her lover? I remembered how he'd looked at her; with the same helpless longing that I had a deep fellow-feeling for, having experienced its agony for myself. If he'd touched her, though…_don't be irrational, _I toldmyself_. That would have been when she had no memory, and it's been five months since she's seen him. What would that have to do with this last tenday?_ Unless I was going to start imagining she had him hidden in Crossroads Keep somewhere to continue a tryst begun then, which was absolutely ridiculous.

Still, even if I couldn't rightly hold her responsible if she'd taken him to her bed when she had no knowledge of me, some part of me wanted to know. She'd told me that there had been nothing between them, but was that a lie to cover embarrassment? "What about Gann?"

She blinked, eyes suddenly narrowing a little as she looked at me. "The hags are guardians of the unconscious mind. And they, and some of their hagspawn sons, have the lore knowledge that gives them skills to move through the dream planes. Not even the _hathran_ can do it, since most relations between hagspawns and humans are…less than friendly."

Some part of me wanted to make a pointed remark that I hoped she hadn't taken it upon herself to foster better relations between the races, so to speak, with all that implied. But that impulse quickly died as I picked up on something else that she'd said. "They can walk in dreams." With a sense of pending dread, like riding a horse towards the edge of a sheer cliff and knowing you could never stop in time, I thought I sensed where this might be going.

She nodded, jerkily, like a puppet's head bobbing on a string. "And while I was there, I had to help out a few people who were lost in the dreamscape. So Gann taught me to dreamwalk. I didn't use the ability after Rashemen, though. Not until…"

I felt my lips curving into a bitter smile over suddenly gritted teeth. "It wasn't coincidence that I dreamt of you last night, is it?"

"No, it wasn't." She took a deep breath and admitted it outright. "I was walking in your dream."

I'd thought that infidelity was probably the worst revelation she could spring on me. I was wrong. Paladins were given strengthened immunity by the gods and so couldn't be poisoned—not physically. In my mind and heart, though, this struck like the deadliest khebra venom.

Bad enough that she'd seen my body as little more than her instrument and used it so: that cut deeply. But for her to step into my dreams uninvited… my gods, one of the first lessons a paladin apprentice learned about true sight of souls was their responsibility for its use. As I'd told Bishop, using that skill on a non-hostile without permission was no better than a kind of rape. And my soul-sight involved just taking a look. She'd actually _entered_ a part of my spirit. Knowing that she'd been in there, unasked and unannounced; she might as well have used a geas to get what she wanted from me in bed. That still would have made me feel less soiled than I did now, like she'd left a trail of slime and muck across my soul with her steps there.

I'd thought I couldn't be angrier than I had been imagining her with another man. I was wrong. I seemed to have found a whole new level of rage, and I knew there was no way that I could withstand it. Trying to stop it would be like trying to stuff an ice bear into a Bag of Holding; near impossible and damn painful besides. And why should I exercise restraint and accept the hurt of suppressing the anger? It was hers in the making—let her be the one to own it, not me. No, there was no urge to hurt her physically; that was nothing compared to what she'd inflicted on me. But if she thought she felt shame for what she'd done—be damned if I'd let it go with that. I made my choice. I was done with polite silence.

"You seem to have an issue regarding the rights of others, _my dear_," and I heard the scorn I placed on the last two words that I usually said with affection. "Perhaps the Sword Coast isn't right for you. They do keep slaves in Thay. You should know; you were there. And Thayvians probably don't even mind you using their minds as well as their bodies."

"Cas…" She pleaded with me, but I steeled myself against it. I wasn't going to be dissuaded by a soft, apologetic look. I'd made enough excuses for her lately by telling myself that she was in anguish and that she hadn't meant to cause me grief by it. She still had done so, and now I meant to make her answer for it.

"Don't. Well, at least you realize what you did was an abomination in the sight of every benevolent god of Faerûn. That's a start."

"Cas, I'm sorry. I was desperate to figure things out. I didn't know what to do. And once I saw what I did…"

"You might have just talked to me about it. Although I notice you don't seem inclined. I should have figured it out when you called me out in front of the Greycloaks when Bishop came. You just had to reassert your authority, humiliate me, and let me know I wasn't your equal. But then I never really have been, have I?"

"That's not fair."

"Neither is treating me like your subordinate except when you require something from me. Then again, respecting me might actually mean that you can't take what you want, shove me aside, and tell me to go away."

"I've always told you when I needed your help—except this last time. It's _because _I know you help me so easily that I didn't want to burden you, okay?"

"I helped you with things you needed done…sword lessons, running the garrison, whatever. You never let me help _you_ though. We were married almost six months before we faced Garius and the King of Shadows. Not once in all that time did you ever let me talk to you about it. 'More preparation, less whining about what can't be helped', that was your attitude."

"And that got it done!" She finally snapped back at me. "You wanted me to cry in a little whimpering heap about how terrified I was that I'd fail and that the world might fall to shadow? That you were probably going to die, that I was probably going to die? Would it have helped?" We were both on our feet now, staring at each other and seeming unable to look away. I saw the same hot anger in her eyes that I knew was in my own, and couldn't help but feel an almost savage satisfaction at it. She was going to fight back. The first few strikes had been made as a test, and now that we knew the measure of each other, the battle was to be joined in earnest. It was a release of tension that was almost blissful.

"Yes! Maybe we could have at least gone to the end with more strength from having shared the fears. You never bothered to treat me as worth confiding in, not from the beginning. Maybe you didn't do it for anyone else either, Lianna, but you still claim to love me."

"Don't talkto me about sharing feelings, Casavir. You're the one who keep your love hidden for six months because you were too afraid of what it might cost. Maybe I could confide some if I didn't feel like it'd be such a damn bother to you."

"What in the hells do you mean by that?" So now she was trying to deflect the conversation by blaming me. That wasn't going to distract me; it was just going to get me even more irritated.

She flung her words like well-placed daggers. "Nothing—and nobody—can really get close enough to touch you. It might smudge the precious paladinhood."

"You knew I was a paladin from the moment Neeshka sensed my aura," I snapped. "And you accepted me knowing that it meant I had certain expectations on me. I never misled you for one instant otherwise. Besides, I've told you that between being a paladin and being your husband, I'd choose you." I couldn't resist adding, "Maybe I made the wrong choice?"

"How noble of you. I told you before that I don't want loving me to be some kind of sacrifice."

"Then perhaps I'm not the sort of man you need, now am I? Trust me; I'll know if you're lying."

"You're not bad in bed, but maybe I could find better. Say, a man who's not afraid of his passion?" She had to know how much that insinuation would sting. It would be bad enough if she'd had other men before me and thus had some basis for comparison before passing that kind of judgment. But I knew she'd told me the truth that I was the first, and so her seeming certainty that I was somehow lacking cut deeply. Maybe she was saying it only to be cruel. But it implied I had a deficiency in satisfying her that was obvious enough that she didn't even need to have known other men to find it. "And oh dear, pulling out the divine lie-detector! Good to know being a paladin gives you such fulfillment, since you're afraid to be a man," she mocked with a derisive laugh.

"You sound just like your brother." It was a ruthless comment to make, but so was hers. And I couldn't call it untrue. In those words, I had heard far too many echoes of months of Bishop's derisive laughter and snide, crude hits.

For an instant, she looked as though I'd slapped her. Then she smiled with no warmth, hazel-green eyes glittering dangerously. "Maybe we're just some selfish son-of-a-bitch's miserable bastards after all, Bishop and me both, and I'm finally showing my true nature. But that just makes you a sorry fool for not seeing it. They'll laugh at you for having been so stupid as to fawn after me like a sweet little white knight while I lied to you all along. Precious paladin skills didn't help you this time, huh?"

She made another neat strike there; making me doubt my own feelings for her, doubt the clarity of my own judgment. I wanted to hurt her back just as badly, and my mind seized on the worst that I could think of. _If you feel so little for me, then I can be easily replaced by someone more suited to service you. You gave Bishop some longing looks back in the day, and if you really are two of a kind in dark nature, why, shared blood shouldn't be an impediment at all_.

The words were at hand, bitter and full of fury. And suddenly, like a ray of divine light, I regained just enough of my senses to realize what I was about to say. I had some fault in this matter. I had been far too eager to see only the best in her and excuse her actions. What I'd told her so far was colored with my own torment and anger, yes, but there was undeniable truth in it: I could no longer deny that she had been cold, distant, condescending, and dismissive. But there was no purpose in what lurked on the tip of my tongue. I was ready to suggest that she could easily be unfaithful, that her desires were utterly perverse, and moreover, that her nature was dark enough to consider her half-brother as a lover. But this was gratuitous, meant only to inflict as much damage as I could without a care—pure poison.

I stared at her, grateful for whatever grace had saved me. What little control I now had was still on razor's edge, though, and I could see from the hard set of her features that she could offer a few more choice remarks to cut me with. And I feared if I let her, I might lose my senses again and say it. I had to leave and calm myself back into some semblance of normalcy before I let myself be goaded into uttering words that would never be forgotten or forgiven.

I glanced towards the river and saw the stepping stones to the other side nearby with relief like a drowning man tossed a lifeline. Without another word, I started to walk away from her.

"Running away now?" she called caustically. I half-turned to see her standing there with her arms folded over her chest, defiance evident in her posture.

I decided to be honest. "Leaving before I say something I come to regret. Don't push me, Lianna."

Had something in her softened, almost imperceptibly? "Maybe you need to be pushed. Be as pissed as you want about me invading, but truth is, I'm not sorry about the outcome. You helped me far more in your dreams than your sweet little courtesies ever would have."

"You don't want to pursue this further unless you're just out to see if you can break me entirely. And that will be the end of us. Believe me."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't wait for me. I'll come back to the Keep when I can." I didn't say _if_, but I certainly thought it. With that, I stepped into the first slick, river-smoothed stone, making my way across with more haste and less care than I should have. All that filled my mind was the urgent need to get away, like some wounded animal dragging itself off to die. Some privacy, some solace, and I could master myself again.

At the trees on the other side I turned and looked over my shoulder, seeing her still there watching me with absolute stillness and an impassive gaze, like a statue. How could one woman give your heart strength and then tear it to shreds? In that moment, I wasn't sure how I could do so, but somehow I both loved and hated her. And above all, I feared that though I was leaving to spare both of us, I had already lost her. The rage was fading already and leaving nothing but a raw torment in its wake. I was wrong: the agony of the blackguard's wounds paled next to this. I stepped into the shadowed wood, and for a guilty moment couldn't help but consider never turning back.


	12. Hero

_**Casavir**_

_Marpenoth 14, 1386 DR_

I almost ran into the woods, as though a pack of slavering hell-hounds was hot on my heels. Once I lost the sound of the river, I might have been wandering in circles for all I knew. The fact that the distant sights turned blurry didn't help—my bad far-vision at work there. Still, I must have been making a terrific racket, and I only vaguely registered the branches scratching me and tearing at my clothing. That was nothing compared to the blows I'd just taken to my spirit.

But as swiftly as I moved, the enemy I was trying to run from was only myself—poor little chance of success there. The heat of my anger was fast fading. I had stopped just shy from totally shattering whatever goodness there was between Lianna and me, true. That didn't mean I still hadn't probably lost a good deal this afternoon.

A throb of guilt and grief moved in to claim the hollow left by my fading rage. I had given in to the worst of my nature, allowed that stupid fit of temper, and the short minutes of hot satisfaction were going to cost me dearly. I wasn't sure I could bear the butcher's bill when it came time to collect.

How could I even begin to apologize to her for it? Above that, the consciousness of another who I answered to: Tyr. Even now he must be watching me, noting how I'd once again botched everything. How came it that he'd ever accepted one like me as his paladin? I tried so desperately to be all that a paladin should: calm, courteous, chivalrous—willing to sacrifice all that I was to help others.

Perhaps the Council had been right in what they had said when I was eight years old. I was no fit paladin. Right from the beginning, I should have seen that I wasn't like the others. Apprenticeship was the route of those who were called later in life, more mature and able to best benefit from a direct mentorship, usually out in the field. Children of the age I had been were almost inevitably fostered at chapterhouses as pages. They grew up with others facing the same path: training together, doing chores together, learning the songs and prayers together. And so by the time they took their vows at seventeen, they had formed the steadfast friendships with their shield-brothers and sisters that I, training alone with Aribeth, never had the chance to find.

I never asked her why she took me as an apprentice. As I grew older, I had figured it out. She probably claimed me as an aspirant paladin in the sight of Tyr before my candidacy could be discouraged. I had been intensely grateful then. I wondered now whether it had been wisdom or folly.

More than once, my bad habit of curiosity had let me overhear things I shouldn't have, opinions on being Tyr's chosen. By and large, the Council thought that a half-wild child from the sea coast couldn't possibly master the control needed. They couldn't directly control the affairs of the chapterhouses and temples, but they certainly could try to make things miserable and inconvenient for stubborn Tyrrans.

Knowing where I came from, it was all too easy for them to look at me and see the worst. Black hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and the promise of growing up as big as my father and like most men of the Iron Shore, a warrior well capable of cracking skulls—undeniable that I had a hefty bit of Uthgardt in my heritage. Barbarian warriors were in my blood along with the rangers, farmers, and fishermen.

And Aribeth knew the Council was against me, knew that the chapterhouses were reserving judgment but watching me with polite interest. She feared the same wildness inside herself; the rage that had led her to mindlessly hunt orcs in the Sword Mountains, in the situation I found myself in twenty years later. So she tamped it out as ruthlessly as she could in me, as she had in herself. Every lesson seemed to be in control, mastery of myself and my emotions. There was no room for passion in her teachings, only skill and perfection.

I studied the cadences and style of a courtroom for when civilized means might prevail. Though true to what the nobles had muttered, I showed no knack for it. I could give battle with words, but only with earnestness. The flourishes and complexities of rhetoric and politics were beyond my ken. The way of the sword, the warrior's code, striving to right wrongs through a sheer cussed will to fight: that was my strength. I learned how best to become a righteous man and serve the stern demands of justice. Honorable compassion for those who suffered injustice, an inflexible determination to fight evil—those were the emotions I was taught were good and desirable. Pity, rage, love or hate: those were discouraged. They might meddle with my gods-given gift for sighting the truth, might cloud the impartiality of my judgment.

And they might lead me to such stupidity as I'd just exercised with Lianna. In that moment, I could only think that the Council had maybe been right. Maybe there was too much wildness in me to make a good paladin. Maybe Aribeth had moved too swiftly to give me a chance that should have been left alone.

Yet, Tyr had chosen me. I had heard his voice in my dreams when I was sleeping in an alleyway in the Docks, a scared child run away from the temple. Just a barest whisper of a kind fatherly voice, telling me that my path was before me, and that I would do great things.

A black well of emotion seemed to choke me—anger at a bold promise left unfulfilled, shame that it was my flaws that meant I'd never meet it. My wilderness years and Old Owl Well seemed nothing compared to this. I had been desperate then as well, but at least then it had somehow made sense. I had been foolish and others paid for it, and I had tried to meet the price the only way I knew how—with my service or my life, whichever Tyr would accept. But now it seemed like there was a yoke across my shoulders with dawning awareness of my own flaws. And it lay heavy on me, weighted with a litany of catastrophes: disgraceful past, painful present, and an unbearable glimpse of a future that suddenly seemed immutable.

I kept making the same mistakes, again and again. My very nature seemed to assure it. And how in the hells had the god of justice hoped to shape such flawed material into a paladin, and promised me that I would do good in his name? I feared the answer he might give me, even as I needed to know with a singular desperation.

"Great things!" I wasn't sure whether I snarled it in fury or cried it in despair. "You said so to me. What greatness is there in me when all I find is failure, again and again?"

I waited, but all that answered me was a faint snapping of twigs as something moved through the bushes and the sweet trill of a warbler nearby. The longer I stood there with no reply, it seemed almost like I heard a sly chuckle riding the rustle of the wind. Maybe it was Cyric laughing me, the stupid ass who probably _was _going halfway mad from all of this unbearable strain.

That made me recall the conversation I had heard in that place between worlds. _He has purpose yet to fulfill…_ Even when he hadn't known I was listening, Tyr spoke of some mighty plan for me.

And now I had begged for an answer, for some kind of explanation, and Tyr's silence seemed to speak volumes of mockery. It tore into me enough that my wife saw me as her tool to be used; she was only human. It seemed like my own god felt the same, and was going to ignore me as well when I needed him. I'd thought the rage had given way fully to desolation. I found I was wrong. It had only submerged slightly, and given fresh fuel, now the backlash was terrible. Whatever vague thoughts of violence I had felt towards Lianna were nothing compared to this. I wanted—_needed_—to unleash it somehow.

Unfortunately, there was virtually no way to strike a god, unless you were there on their plane. And right now I was so damn far from Mount Celestia, physically and spiritually, it wasn't even funny.

I saw it then, the sight registering more than the casual notice I had taken earlier; there were lindens amongst the forest, Tyr's sacred tree. Like a man possessed, all it took was three quick steps to the nearest one. "I heard you that day!" I shouted to the blue autumn skies. "Purpose? Plans? You got Kelemvor to keep me alive, so what use am I to you?_ Answer me, damn it_!" If I'd had an axe, I might have chopped it down before I could stop myself. Naturally, it would be pathetically ineffectual; a man's fist against such an old tree. But if near-blasphemy was dramatic enough to get Tyr's attention, so be it. I put all my power into the punch. The brief flash of pain in my hand was nothing to the blissful relief of just _hitting _something.

I had found this state before, lost in the surge of battle, where my will focused entirely on the task at hand to the exclusion of all else. The orcs had named me _Katalmach _for it. But it had never been so intertwined with the red blaze of wrath. I was probably a hair's breadth from being ready to do Lianna one better and actually challenge a greater deity. Tyr could probably kill me with a thought. It was folly. It was quite possibly the maddest thing I'd ever done in my life. And it felt all at one terrifying and glorious to finally demand that I deserved more than to resign myself to quiet subservience.

I stood there, waiting, braced up with my own defiance like a man ready for battle. Feeling the shudders running through me at the force of my own emotion, my breath caught through my clenched teeth as though I'd been running for miles.

The sudden flash of power hit me like a mace swung by a troll, almost painful. I'd felt strong auras in the past from great paladins and clerics, but it was the difference between candle flame and a roaring bonfire. It faded quickly to a more bearable level, but it was still like being far too close to heat for comfort.

Turning to look, a figure of a man stood where nothing but the quiet emptiness of the woods had been but seconds before. The last thing I wanted right now was company. I almost demanded to know who he was and why he was intruding on my privacy.

Somehow, rational thought managed to tug on a corner of my consciousness. The wave of power—some part of me already sensed what must be the truth. But as I stared in almost horrified silence, I only became more convinced. He was a middle-aged man with his dark hair and beard mostly grizzled to grey. He was dressed as a warrior, in a good hauberk of mithril chainmail and a deep purple wool surcoat without a sigil. A massive, well-worn longsword hung at his belt—and with a sort of awe and dread, I saw that he had to wield it left-handed. His right arm ended just above the wrist, though the actual stump was hidden by mail and vambrace.

I had yelled my defiance and challenged him to answer me. And so he had answered; this was an avatar of Tyr that had appeared before me, regarding me in mortal form with the steady deep blue eyes that his divine body had lost.

It was on the tip of my tongue to start stammering apologies, in hopes that he wouldn't just strike me down for my stupidity. His power was blunted in this avatar, but the waves of divine aura emanating from him were still just tolerable to me. He must have been shielding me from its pure force; it certainly would crush a blackguard like a scurrying insect. But it seemed like all I could do was stare. To meet a god face-to-face was a mark of high favor. Lianna had envied me my encounter with Mielikki until she had met the Woodswalker herself in Rashemen. It should have been an honor beyond measure for him to appear to me. Instead, all I could think was that I'd be lucky past knowing to not suffer his wrath.

He spread his hands—his hand and stump—oh hells. "And so I'm here, Casavir," he said, regarding me with no particular love, but no fury either, only an unfathomable patience. "How do you judge yourself a failure?"

He wasted no time there discussing my idiocy in challenging him, for which I was intensely grateful. And true to his nature, he wanted the logic of my judgment. I found I couldn't meet his knowing eyes, consumed once again with shame as I finally managed to speak again. "You know everything that I've ever done…all my mistakes. I can't control myself when it matters, can't be as a paladin should."

He nodded at that, face still impassive. "And tell me, what should a paladin be?"

This was feeling alarmingly like being a ten-year-old child reciting lessons to Oleff and Aribeth, and I felt every bit as nervous about my answers as I did then. "Calm," I said finally. "Dutiful. Willing to risk everything he has for the greater good." That, at least, differentiated me from Ammon Jerro. I would never presume to offer anyone else's life or suffering but my own. I felt the bitterness creeping into my words, but what was the use of keeping this thought silent? He could read my soul and mind with a glance. "Not a wreck with ten thousand doubts whose risks are those of failing his duty because he can't master his own loneliness and emotions." I left only a beat of silence before I dared to ask him a question of my own. "Why are you asking me these things?"

He folded his arms across his broad chest, and something of a faint smile might have finally touched his lips. "You demanded answers from me, Casavir, and it's your right to have them. I've waited years, and I believe you're ready to hear them now. But you need to also _understand_ what I have to tell you."

Nobody ever said answers were easy. I was counting myself ahead of the game for not being dead at this moment, to be honest. And he appeared to even be strangely pleased that I'd asked for some kind of resolution.

"Think on this: why is it that I and other gods call mortals to be our paladins? We might simply task the celestials with the duties of a holy warrior, yet we don't."

I shook my head, still too heartsick over the entire afternoon's events and too addle-brained at the incredible nature of this to turn my mind to puzzling through the answer. "I don't know." Admittedly I had never been well-versed on matters of theology anyhow; I left such matters to the priests and clerics.

He gave a soft sight, quickly lost in the wind. It looked as though he was heading back to a simpler line of questioning. "What is my charge?"

Well, this one I knew, at least. That was a small consolation. "You want to bring justice and peace to this world."

He nodded in approval, gesturing with his good hand as he spoke. "Yes. And an entirely just world will never happen. The nature of men is the nature of the Balance; there will always be righteousness and wickedness, order and chaos. And it is men, not gods, who make the laws of Faerûn—because they understand the nature of mortals. I may take this form for a time, and I can see your nature, but it isn't my own."

"Law shouldn't be swayed by mortal emotion; I was always taught that."

"Sentiment shouldn't replace your reason, no. But neither should it be discounted. You must be able to deeply understand all that led to the events presented before you—the facts of the actions, yes, but the cause as well."

"But…"

His voice was like a roll of thunder lashing at me, speaking again to the might that far exceeded the frail form of a human man. And I knew that this avatar and its power was only a part of his consciousness; most of him was still in the House of the Triad handling many other tasks. "You've never been foolish enough to just follow the law blindly, Casavir. It's one of your greatest strengths. You speak of emotion being undesirable in judgment? When you were stealing food to keep yourself alive, the laws of some lands would see you lose a hand or be hanged. It wouldn't matter that you were an eight-year-old boy, would it?"

"No," I whispered, remembering those few forlorn tendays in my childhood all too well. Strange to say, those days had been filled with the same guilt and shame and panic that I felt now. "Even the code of laws in Neverwinter would want my imprisonment. And Oleff knew what I did, but never demanded punishment for it."

"Oleff Uskar is a wise man and saw only the acts of a desperate child. And you made your own restitution for your acts, so the price was paid. I have celestials aplenty to fight against pure darkness. But men come in shades of grey, Casavir. And I do not need servants with blind souls or ones that pretend to perfection to act as judges to their fellows. They have no right to choose to offer condemnation or mercy, because they understand neither."

I shook my head slowly, unable to believe it. It seemed such a simple thing—dangerously so. "It's still hard to think that…"

"Why did you judge Bishop Rettikar as you did?"

"He had changed. He has far to go still. But I believe he could—_will_—do good things in this world now. So atonement rather than death for his sins seemed appropriate." I realized I was waiting with baited breath for what he might say about that.

His tones deepened with a sort of wry, proud amusement at a clumsy pupil finally stumbling on a correct answer. "Just so, and well done. A year ago you wanted to slay him. Strict writ of law would have had demanded the same still. But you allowed yourself to see the entirety of the matter instead, and made a good judgment from it."

"Thank you," I murmured, feeling more than a bit abashed. "Still, I can't imagine I've made a good showing for myself this day."

Clearly the plaintive little apology was the wrong thing to say. The smile vanished and I braced myself for a lecture. "You see the issue of your own soul wrongly, as ever you have." Well, I had to admit that rebuke stung, justified as it must be, and I felt myself blushing at it. "The fault is not all yours; you were taught so by Aribeth de Tylmarande. But you're no longer a boy, and as a man, you haven't questioned those teachings. And until you make some peace with your own doubts, your judgment upon the nature of others is flawed."

"How can shouting at my wife like a raging jackass reflect well on me as a paladin?" I snapped. Immediately I was horrified; bad enough to be terse with my wife, but being tetchy again with my patron god was not exactly wise. Considering he was standing before me with his strength clearly in evidence? I would do well to take another nice object lesson in the stupidity of losing my temper from this.

Unforgiving tones of steel entered his voice now, demanding that I heed his words. My eyes dropped of their own accord to the hilt of his sword, but his hand and his stump remained resting on his hips. "It shows that you acknowledge your emotions. You dread your humanity, because you think you weigh the life of a man against that of a paladin. And you fear that a man's feelings will tip the balance, and that the price for it will be dear."

The piercing clarity of his vision was unnerving. This must be how others felt when I turned my true sight on their souls. "If I should fail my purpose because I was distracted by personal matters, shouldn't there be a price to be paid for it?"

He returned sharply, "So you see your wife as a 'distraction', then?"

I took a breath to protest that of course I didn't, that she was my beloved, dearer to me than my own life. My life, yes, I still didn't doubt that—but what of my heart and my trust? She'd asked me months ago whether I would be willing to live rather than die for her. I'd agreed so readily, but had I really thought about what that promise meant?

Put that way, it did make me sound like a pretty cold bastard. "No…" I could hear the uncertainty in my voice though, and the guilt. "I suppose I have," I confessed, shamed to the core by it. She had said it herself. I had at least resolved to choose her over paladinhood. But I only knew so because I had been so confident I would have to make that decision someday. Deep within, I had convinced myself that she drew me away from my calling, and I had accepted loving her at my own peril. Not precisely, I had to admit, the most romantic view to have of one's love. No wonder she'd thrown that in my face.

He must have seen the forlorn look on my face, and known how swiftly I took his words to heart and berated myself with them. His voice suddenly gentled, which was almost more frightening than stern demands. "Here is truth for you. I keep no such scales, Casavir, and there's no ransom to be paid. A paladin's path is difficult. I do demand high standards of you, but you've made them impossible."

I felt like a man lost so many years in the Underdark that he could remember nothing else, who had unexpectedly spied a crack to the surface up ahead. Escape was at hand, but also uncertainty—the darkness was at least familiar. There was a wild mix of fear at venturing forth into the unknown, but above all, a surge of hope.

He took a step closer to me, though he didn't reach out to touch me. "You always have been one to see the best in others. Believe it of yourself."

I wanted to accept that so badly, craved that compassion I heard in his tones rather than the disapproval I had expected about my failings. "What would you ask of me?" I heard the tremor in my words, trying manfully to not just stare shyly down at my muddy boots.

"Accept that you're mortal, and have a human's soul and heart. Your passions run deep and can be the best source of your strength, if you use them rather than fear them."

I couldn't let it rest, as desperately as I wanted to accept the grace he offered. "Then you know that a time may come that I have to make the hard choice. I may still fall someday from it. If I accept more than being devoted entirely to your service…"

"Yours is not the chapterhouse paladin's path, Casavir. It never was. I have need of other kinds of servants. And what you've endured has led you to a place to fulfill a different purpose."

"What do you mean?" Had he never meant me to be a paladin? Now, finally we might get to what I had wanted to know. What plan did he have for me that he had spoken of it more than once?

We weren't quite there yet, so it seemed. He greeted my eagerness with yet another question. "What did you swear in your vows to me all those years ago?"

I thought back to when I was newly seventeen, a reluctantly-dubbed hero of the Luskan War. I'd been in the chapel, wearing a novice's pale blue robes, kneeling again on knees sore from being on a rough stone floor all night in prayer. A few tendays shy of thirteen years now, but I could recall the words as though it was yesterday—and how I had thought that morning of Aribeth, who had sworn these selfsame vows thirteen years before that, coming to trial in just a few days.

I had offered my right hand, palm up—dedicating myself as Tyr's right hand, the sword hand, to replace the one he had sacrificed so long ago against the Chaos Hound. I said the words now, as I had that cool Uktar morning. "Now I take up the task before me. In the face of my enemies, I will be without fear. My actions will be brave and faithful. Truth will ever be in my words, though it may mean my death. My sword will defend the helpless and punish the wicked. I shall bring justice where I go. This is my vow, as a paladin of Tyr."

Urrick Cosgrave, one of the most senior brothers of the Merciful Sword, had deftly flicked the brand-new longsword in his hands across my palm, just a faint brush of razor-sharp steel. He then offered the sword to me as I rose to my feet. A few drops of my blood on the blade to consecrate my vow to Tyr, then I took the hilt in my hand, the cut burning at the pressure and my fingers sticky. Urrick then offered me words of both warning and welcome. "There is suffering in our path, brother. This blood you offer today to dedicate the sword reminds you of that."

Tyr, as ever, saw into my thoughts. "There is suffering in a paladin's path, yes, but you make yourself miserable solely of your own accord, my young paladin. You said the vows then and remember them, as you repeated them this day. Where in them did I demand a forsaking of everything but total devotion to my service?"

I thought it over. The vows I had sworn—to be a good man with nobility of actions and spirit, to be the hope to those who had no other. There had been no words of "I will hold no lands, take no wife, and father no children." As much as I'd assumed that I must be totally consumed in the service of justice, that mine was a solitary path—he was right. Those restrictions were of my own making.

And yet, sworn or not, those things came to pass often enough, and people seemed to assume that paladins were forbidden from most normal joys. It was probably more due to our generally low life expectancy and the harsh life we lived that we so often never married. If we courted a lover before we'd reached an age to settle down from the worst of field service, we risked the heartache of leaving them grieving someday—that was too much to want to give to anyone for someone who thought of others first. But people saw that result, and they probably assumed that it was because we had sworn a promise to devote ourselves solely to our god. Bishop had sneered that to love Lianna would break my vows often enough, and even Lia herself had worried about it. As I had, of course, but I was the fool who should have had the wisdom to see that it was my actions and fears, rather than the vows I took, that kept me apart from her. People outside our orders couldn't be expected to know better.

I had assumed so much, and assumed it wrongly. "Nowhere," I admitted. I'd wasted a long time in folly, trying so hard to keep myself separate from everything and everyone earthly to better give myself to the spiritual. And not only did my god not ask that sacrifice, even now he told me that I was crippling my own strength by trying to deny that I was a mortal man.

It seemed an unbearable disgrace at first. I stood there able to make no reply, feeling him patiently waiting for my response. The longer I thought, somehow, that defeat slowly yielded to a small bloom of warmth, of hope. I had made mistakes with my blindness. But he wasn't demanding my punishment for them. Somehow, he seemed to judge me worthy. If Tyr asked no price for my human flaws, then I should somehow try to forgive myself. Then I could offer myself to his service again, unhindered by the black melancholy of failure that had hung heavy on me for years.

But there was something to be learned first, I thought. He'd been urging me to consider my mortality with all that it meant, and make that my strength. I'd blamed myself for so long, secretly taken the Council's words to heart about my fitness to be a paladin. Most others were of old bloodlines of holy warriors, or the spare sons and a few daughters of noble houses and the families of craftsmen and merchants. A few peasants, aye, but even those were mostly city-bred. A country born paladin from the villages, like me, was a rarity indeed.

It wasn't that the poorer folk were considered unworthy vessels to serve the gods as holy warriors. It was just a matter of outlook. Growing up in the country, as I well remembered, was usually hard going. Each rainfall, each planting, each bandit raid, each winter's coming could mean survival or death. A life of uncertainty digging its claws the rhythms of the year, and a life tied to the harvest, the village, the family.

When country men and women fought, as I'd told Lianna at Old Owl Well, they fought with total abandon for the lives of their loved ones, their homes, and the food that would see them through another hard winter. Simple necessities of survival consumed their energy so much that there was nothing to devote to more idealistic causes. It was probably harder for a child growing up bound to the land and constantly hit by chaos to come up with the mindset of a paladin.

Remembering my village burning when I was fifteen was pain almost beyond bearing, but as I'd been taught, I just locked it away and was out trying to heal the sick next morning. I'd tried to retain nothing of the boy, convinced he had no place in the paladin apprentice. My parents and sister and village were dead—what use did they have in the paladin apprentice?

Still, the last bit of that life hadn't been taken from me. I had willingly surrendered it in years since. I felt my cheeks growing hot as I thought of my eldest sister Dathne. She'd slipped away during that last Midsummer Gathering at Cliffside Keep and not come home with us. She was fifteen at the time; maybe she'd run off with a boy. My parents still were trying to locate her when the red ague came. Gods-given fortune for Dath that she had left: if she'd been home she'd have died with my parents and Irenna.

I'd thought about her a good deal this summer, ever since Lianna had discovered Bishop as her brother. Even as confusing as it was, I knew in some sense, it was a comfort to her to have kin in the world. Dathne gave me the same kind of knots. I'd loved her, looked up to her: she was a bold one too, the two of us talking about adventure and seeing the world. But she'd left me behind. And while I was made to forget, she kept her memories. She didn't try to find me; I didn't know why. It seemed to me that she had been old enough for years to come looking, long before I was grown enough to do the same. And after Aribeth's betrayal, I was admittedly content to not seek out someone who might reject me as well. But it struck me now that for well or ill, I wanted some certainty on Dath. She was something I'd have to make peace with, years after I should have.

I was old enough now to realize I'd taken some bad lessons in my past, as Tyr had said. Suppressing emotion for too long could do untold damage. Aribeth broke utterly over Fenthick's death. I almost killed myself over Harcus. And both of us managed to lead others to their deaths in the aftermath.

Denial was something I'd been spectacular at for years: denial of my heritage, denial of my emotions, denial of my doubts about Neverwinter, denial of my feelings for Lianna. I'd done it all convinced that I was removing flaws and impurities, making myself into finer steel to be a sword in Tyr's service. In truth, when it came to my existence now, the sword I considered was that damn Gith sword that Lianna had hung in the Great Hall after we had come back from Rashemen.

It had broken to pieces so many years ago, turned to a junk heap of shards. It seemed I'd done the same, and cast away the bits that I thought had no place in my life. All I had kept was the one small shard: that I was a paladin.

And I _was_ a paladin. I'd serve the gods and die in their graces someday, though hopefully not for long years. That piece of me was the core. But now I realized that slowly I'd been gathering other bits to me. I just hadn't allowed them in fully to where they might lend me their power. The _Katalmach _was a part of me. So too, I was a man could ignore authority to help bring justice to the overlooked. I had gained true friends. I had served as faithful companion to a heroine. I'd become the lover and husband to a fine woman…father now to our baby girl. Lord of Crossroads Keep, with all that entailed.

And this last year, I'd become one of the Chukthal Rashemi, a chosen brother of Okku. During that winter, I'd seen their simpler lives and envied them. Maybe I was secretly mourning the life I might have had with the certainty of kin.

I thought about my village again, standing there in the Marpenoth sunlight with the leaves falling around me. I knew too well what my life would have been on that path. I'd have grown learning the ways of the fields, the woods, and the sea like my father. I'd have wed years ago, seen my children grow. It would have been a life that in its way was as hard as the one I now claimed, though also not an unhappy one.

But I thought I was finally ready to reclaim that part of me and make use of it: the son of the Iron Shore, who could dare to use passion as strength. And maybe, just maybe, I could reforge myself from a heap of scattered bits into a sword. I didn't know what my future held, but finally, I thought I had the peace of knowing that I didn't have to fight myself any longer. I was what I was meant to be.

Lianna maybe didn't know how perceptive she'd been in my dream, accusing me of my own form of denial. Rich irony there, considering her own state, but she'd been right. I could suddenly empathize with her torn soul from Rashemen.

I'd been mistaken. Even when I was courting Lianna, the question I asked was whether I could be a man and a paladin, thinking them a cautious balance between two opposing sides of Tyr's scales. The truth was a simple thing, but it seemed to carry an amazing freedom to it. I understood now. I had to be a man who was also a paladin, accept all of my life and what it had made me. Only now, after understanding that, was I perhaps ready for whatever purpose he had waited to reveal to me.

I straightened, turned my gaze back from the strangely silent and still forest to him. I asked it again, but this time I met his eyes, shining with divine light like a thousand stars in the night sky. I heard the growing certainty in my words. "What would you ask of me?"

He noticed the difference, and he gave me an approving smile, his teeth showing white through his beard and mustache. "_Now_, my son, I think you understand me."

Had I ever known a delight like I did in those words? I wasn't sure. "Then what of your plans for me?" I asked carefully, trying to keep my tone respectfully polite. That caused me more difficulty than I'd have liked. Trying to curb my eagerness—everything finally seemed to be coming into place. The future was brimming with vast possibility. The only other time I'd ever felt anything like this was when I was eight years old, startled and awed at a young half-elven paladin's telling me that I was gods-touched, meant not to be a simple scribe or craftsman, but a warrior of the gods.

I thought his smile somehow grew even wider as he saw my thoughts. "Do you know why I chose you then?"

"No," I admitted, feeling the blood rushing hot to my cheeks from the esteem I heard in his words. "I've long wondered that."

"You suffered while living on the streets. Yet even then, you thought of the others who were condemned to that existence. I chose a boy who saw an injustice that so many overlooked, and had the wisdom and courage to be upset for it." I somehow blushed even deeper, flustered at the praise. "Even now, your own castle shelters some of those children, does it not?"

Wolf and his pack of urchins; I had been vehemently in favor of Lianna's desire to get them off the streets. She had told me of her early encounters with them, seeming a bit surprised that I didn't condemn their actions as petty pickpockets and footpads. I remembered all too well what I might have become had Hlam not found me and brought me back to the Halls of Justice. "Aye, it does."

"That's well," he said agreeably. "For some of them, great things may come of humble origins. About that—you've taken heed of the Council when you shouldn't. I didn't choose you in spite of your blood. I called you because of it."

All right, now I was admittedly confused again. "I don't understand."

"So many mortals only see evil in the shadow monsters and vast threats to be slain. You've served me admirably there. You stood against both Luskan and the King of Shadows."

"Thank you," I managed.

"Almost five years you tried to die for the death of Harcus Valessar. You thought I had turned from you in your shame," now the hot embarrassment had a prickle of mortification as well, "but you served me better than you ever had. You listened to the common people, heard their troubles. Some things you could remedy—the bandits, the trolls, the criminals. Some you couldn't—corrupt nobles and children who died far too young. You gave what you could and no aid was beneath your dignity."

"I could have done more for some of them. Had I not convinced myself I was fallen, I could have healed with more than herbs and knives—"

"You did great things," he cut me off, "in performing so many small tasks. And you became aware of the injustices they suffered, too often helpless and overlooked by men with nobility of title but not spirit. You cared for their sufferings, joined in their struggles. You gavethem hope, though you kept none for yourself. And you came to realize your faith lay in them."

"So I did. I meant it." _I thought my sword could make a difference, give the people some hope if Neverwinter itself wouldn't protect them_. _I don't have faith in a city or a nation, but in the people within it_, remembering those words, how Lianna had agreed fiercely. That day, I liked her intensely for it. I had been so disillusioned by what I had seen out in the wilds. There had been so much suffering and hardship that I had forgotten that so few seemed to care about.

True, some benevolent nobles cared capably for their tenants, and I had marked well their names back then, too little aware that I would be a member of their circle now. Likewise, I had some who I had harsh words for at court this coming month. The priests did what they could for the villages. Sometimes a kind hero would help, but that was too rare. Mercenaries usually wanted money, and sad to say, even those who fought for righteousness rather than gold were frequently in a hurry to go slay some greater evil.

"You're of ordinary birth, Casavir. There's no shame in it. It gives you power, because you're of the common folk. And that leads you to understanding and compassion for them. I have enough dragonslayers in my faith. What potential I saw in the boy I called, I now see come to pass in the man before me."

A third time I asked him: once in humiliation, once in confusion, and now in confidence. Understanding finally coming upon me in a blaze of glory, a sweet assurance that not only was I not a failure now—_I never had been._ Everything I had been, everything I had endured, had led me to this. "What would you ask of me?"

"Kneel," was all he said to me. I obeyed, kneeling before him at the foot of the linden in the hushed woods. I offered him my right hand as I had those years ago, waiting for him to tell me my oath. He gazed down at me with a look of almost unbearable wisdom, a hint of humor playing about his features. "Vow your service as you will, _champion of Tyr_."

I felt myself smile as he confirmed what I had thought. This was my path: to be his divine champion and to guard against injustices that others might have ignored. Still to be a paladin, yes, with the power that gave me. But I could draw upon the strength the other parts of my life could give me.

I thought of what to say. What vows I had already made still bound me—my promises offered when I swore to be a paladin, a husband, a lord of Neverwinter. Much of what I might say had already been offered by a previous oath given in the sight of the gods. There was no need to repeat myself; Tyr had witnessed those words.

Finally, it came to me, simple and sure, a few additions to what pledges already bound me. "This is my vow. I will protect and serve the people; I will strive against injustice, whether great or small. My sword sh—" I stopped, considering for a moment. No, that wasn't quite right. Not all of the fights that lay ahead on this road would be ones of physical combat. "My sword and will," I amended, almost sensing his smile, "shall defend those who cry for aid. In the name of Tyr, I do so swear."

I expected him to just accept my service with acknowledgement. Instead, he reached out his good left hand towards my right shoulder. "And I accept your vow, Casavir." As he touched me, the surge of divine energy suddenly coursing through me felt like I'd been struck by a flash of lightning. It was too much to bear for a human man, glory so profound it became agony. I bit back the cry of pain. I would die, I would come apart, or I would go mad…almost gratefully I sank into the escape of black nothingness.

I might have been unconscious for a few seconds or perhaps longer, but when I opened my eyes to the autumn skies above, it was still late afternoon. The sounds of the wild surrounded me again, and it was startling after how quiet it had been in Tyr's presence. Had we truly been here in the woods near Crossroads Keep, or had it been another of those places a god could fashion, out of ordinary time and between worlds?

As I carefully sat up, the red throb of pain in my right hand convinced me that it had been the latter. Immediately I realized that I'd broken some bones with that punch. Even oblivious to most of the world as the _Katalmach, _I couldn't have helped but notice a shattered hand. I sighed at my own stupidity—really, punching a _tree_? I looked up to see Tyr still standing there. "You may wish to heal your hand," he commented with faint amusement.

My mind felt thick as the wool of my good blue autumn cloak right then. But somehow, more out of rote and instinct than actual thought, I managed to muster the words of a simple healing spell. "_Säali, imya'se peretiska!_" In his presence, the ordinary glow of divine light around my hands leapt to a blaze. A touch of my left hand to my right and the hurt immediately faded, the hand effectively healed. Previously, I'd have had to call upon a higher-level spell to get that immediate result. If I could spare the time, I'd have endured minor pain for half a tenday while the bones finished knitting and kept the divine power in case it was needed for something more urgent.

It wasn't just him being there that caused this. Certainly I had felt the spell's effects being faintly augmented. But within me, I'd felt my own power resonating further than it had before. He'd laid a hand on me and granted me a startling amount of divine grace. It startled the hells out of me. It felt like when I'd been a boy at the shore. To a certain point, you could walk out into the sea and keep your feet on the muddy sand and your head above the surface. But the Iron Shore was full of sudden drop-offs, the water abruptly going down to alarming depths. And you had three choices. You could be frightened and turn back for shore. You could flail and drown. Or you could just start swimming.

He'd cut the bottom out from under me with a single touch, and I didn't know how deep the waters ran now. I couldn't head back to the way I had been, and I had no desire to panic and fail. Whatever these new depths were, I'd explore them carefully, but aim to keep myself afloat. I looked up at him. "Is this to help for my new task?" I asked, calm in my voice that I didn't quite feel.

He nodded at that, looking satisfied that I finally had figured out my answers. "So it is. I tell you truly, don't let foolish pride hinder you from accepting aid. You'll need others in days to come." He gave me a half-smile. "Perhaps you might begin that by speaking to your wife."

With the blink of an eye, he was suddenly gone. Without his words in my ears and the light of his aura, I again heard the roar of the river nearby and saw the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun through the tree branches overhead. No, that wasn't right—I was away from the water, and this was a clearing. Numbly, I had just enough time to realize it was ringing in my ears and dark spots on my vision, before it all faded to black again.


	13. Unbreakable

_**Lianna**_

_Marpenoth 14, 1386 DR_

Well, that hadn't gone as I'd planned. I'd endured some anger in his dream and that at least had prepared me a little bit. But not nearly enough; his irritation in the dreamscape was nothing next to the blaze of fury I'd seen in his eyes today.

I hadn't even gotten a chance to explain, to apologize. He didn't ask why; he just went on the attack. But he wasn't wrong, I was forced to admit. Call it fairly; I had effectively invaded his soul last night. He had a right to be furious with me, particularly with how badly I'd used him in the last days. What had I thought would happen when I told him—gentle understanding and a sweet pardon?

It slowly dawned on me, sitting there all alone on the riverbank and trying to not look at the opposite bank to the trees where he had disappeared. _Yes_. In some part of me, that had been what I'd expected. I'd tell the truth, and he'd let me explain, and then forgive me for it. That was how it had always been between us, really. He was patient, kind…

…_and utterly taken for granted_, a sly little voice hissed in my mind. His words came back to me then, rising like noisome restless specters ready to haunt me. His normally resonant voice had been harsh, as if he was half-choked by own his emotions. "_You just had to reassert your authority, humiliate me, and let me know I wasn't your equal. But then I never really have been, have I?...Then again, respecting me might actually mean that you can't take what you want, shove me aside, and tell me to go away._"

"Not always," I whispered to the forest, autumn wind blowing cool against my suddenly heated cheeks. The rush of the river was my only answer. "It's been bad since Marpenoth began, but…" But before that?

I cast back in my mind to the beginning. We'd spent the entire winter cooped up in close quarters at the Keep delicately avoiding the subject that we both finally knew we had feelings for each other. Our first journey when spring came had been to Ammon's Haven. After hearing the fiends taunt Casavir about his love for me, after losing Shandra and having no patience for more lost time, I'd confronted him.

I hadn't been wrong to demand we discuss it, had I? I hadn't known that paladins, always so conscious of the effect their status might have, were obliged to not admit their feelings until their lover made the first move. No, he'd sounded so relieved to finally be able to say it. The memory of his love written openly in his eyes that day had carried me through a lot in the next months. That hadn't been a mistake. And kissing; well, we'd both been enthusiastic enough for that.

After that, though… I knew I wanted him, after too many longing, restless nights. I'd been suddenly giddy with love and all too aware of how fragile our lives were. In retrospect, that combination probably made me far bolder than I would have been normally.

He'd hesitated, but not really protested. He probably would have been happy just admitting his love, kissing me, and returning to camp to continue our courtship at its natural leisure. But he wanted my approval, my love. That was how it had long been between us; he was too polite and too shy to really gainsay me. And that day, more than any other before, he left himself wide open by admitting he felt guilty at making me suffer all those doubts throughout the winter. I'd unconsciously used that. Each time he faltered, dragged his heels but didn't dare to openly tell me "No", I steadily pushed him on, knowing that if only I pressed on, he'd surely see it my way. I told him that I wanted him. That was fair. But when he'd looked hesitant, I brought up the months we'd already wasted in silence, and followed that with another strike, musing on what little time we might have left.

When he proved still uncertain, I'd asked whether it was a matter of our not being married. He'd admitted that probably wasn't an issue, but I'd cheerfully told him that I'd give him assurance so there would be no problem. He murmured about priests and banns and delays, and I answered him with the village way, where a priest might not come but once a year for the marryings and buryings and namings—vows taken before the gods. I'd taken his hand in mine, bound our wrists with my old blue kerchief, and we'd sworn ourselves to each other in the sight of Mielikki and Tyr. With that, the thing was done, and there was no reason left that we shouldn't have our wedding night then and there as I'd suggested.

A thought seemed to work its way through me like the ravenous, mindless corrosion of Akachi's spirit-hunger. Had that really been no better than a sort of rape? I didn't need to physically or magically restrain him for there to be some kind of coercion involved. I must have known deep in my gut he was uncomfortable with our intimacy being established that quickly. I had seen his reluctance, but I hadn't quit until I had closed off any avenue of escape, and he had to give in.

The tears suddenly prickling in my eyes startled me. Within seconds, I found myself trembling and gulping back the sobs—gods _damn _it_,_ ever since Marrin was born I'd been a mess when it came to keeping my emotions in check. It had only grown worse since my breakdown in Cloverton. How could he look at me and see any kind of goodness, if I had done that to him? Had I taken something that should have been full of happiness and love and turned it so ugly? If that was the case, I had so much to apologize for that I could barely even fathom where to begin.

I didn't know where a tiny bit of clarity came from. Maybe it was a self-defense, maybe the grace of the gods, but I seized on it. We'd laughed under that linden and made love more than once. Those definitely weren't the acts of a reluctant man being obliged against his will. I'd see how he had looked at me that day….and I'd seen how he'd looked at me the last few days. There was no comparison between his shy joy then and the hurt sullenness now. We'd been a bit foolish, maybe, but it had been love, without any doubt. That was a different animal entirely from my ruthless use of him in the last few days. A fresh wave of shame hit me as I knew I pretty much had forced him in those instances. I had done it by demanding his compliance rather than by threats or bindings, but the result was nasty all the same.

I tried to put that aside for the moment, returning to Greengrass and what had happened. Even that day, he loved me, he wanted to bed me, and he intended to marry me. I never doubted that, not even now. But looking at my own actions with cold objectivity, I could see that I'd moved things along that path quicker than he would have. Not always a bad idea: sometimes Casavir's excessive caution needed a push. But this had been a shove off a gods-damned cliff. I'd caught him up in the whirlwind of my making, and by the time clarity returned to both of us, it was far too late.

It embarrassed me anew to think about it. Retta had warned me about boys back in the day, about the words and wiles they might use to get me snuggled down in a haystack. I found it startling now to consider myself through that lens, chagrined at the recognition. If I'd been a lad desperately in love and far too impatient to wait—and knowing my shy beloved's uncertainty—what if I persisted in getting my way and having them in my bed with cajoling and guilt and appeals to our mutual feelings? What would people say about me? They might not call me a ruthless seducer: that had been the case the past tenday, unfortunately. But they'd be right in calling me dangerously self-centered. Not a flattering depiction of the brave Knight Captain.

He owned some fault for not being willing to speak up. But I was to blame for knowing he likely wouldn't, and using every inch of that latitude. At my oh-so-helpful urging, Cas and I had gone from hopeless longing all the way to marriage in the space of just a few hours. At best, that sounded…well, "imprudent" was the polite term Casavir might use. A blunt "bat-shit reckless" was probably more my style.

Reckless was one thing, but the more I turned it over in my mind, it was like moving a crystal just so in the light and getting a sudden blinding dazzle of color. Recognition blossomed in me. Maybe back then I wasn't nearly as dreadful as I had been to him since Highharvesttide, but I couldn't even take refuge in idealizing the past. He called the shot correctly; I'd been taking him, and his good nature, for granted.

And with that, I seemed to grasp another bit of truth. Our swift courtship had been dictated by my wishes. So rapid, too, that there had been no chance for us to find a different balance as lovers. The same as in other matters, a comfortably familiar situation: I was the boss and he was my loyal lieutenant. I'd listen to him, of course, but in the end, the decision was mine and both of us knew he'd follow my lead. Once evening first touched the sky and we were already wedded and bedded after having just admitted our feelings a few hours previous, the tone was pretty much set. All I really accomplished that Greengrass was to unknowingly claim dominion over him in matters of the heart as well as the battlefield and the castle.

He was right. Maybe I didn't consciously look down my nose at him. But I'd thought of him like a faithful hound: free to be shut away in the kennel when he became a nuisance then let out again when I required him, and expecting he'd still adore me anyway. I'd been shocked and furious when he challenged me over Bishop, and I'd tried to humble him, snarling that the only clout he had was what I gave him. Now, I could barely believe with a fucking _colossal_ arrogance that was. He was a paladin of Tyr, a leader of men. He had his own authority that had nothing to do with me. And he'd paid the price for it over years, in sweat and tears and toil and blood, a toll I knew all too well myself.

I winced, raising a hand to cover my eyes as if to hide from my own disgrace. I had been unspeakably cruel to him since Marpenoth began. But I'd been unfair ever since the start. I'd worried so much about trapping him into a bad situation with his own sense of loyalty. It looked like I'd done it anyway.

Three years ago now I'd been on the road to Neverwinter after having just met Khelgar at the inn, confused and frightened. And I knew, with a certainty deep in my bones, that I hadn't been like this back then. Khelgar might have been reckless and brawl-happy back in the day, but he wouldn't have wanted to be around someone cold and self-serving. What had happened to me to make that naïve country ranger into a real bitch?

I felt the tears rising again, stinging hot, and I bent my head to my drawn-up knees, roughly swallowing the catches that threatened to turn into sobs. Taking a shuddering breath, I admitted to the forest, "I want to go back. I'd give anything to go back…" I just wanted it all to make sense again. I hadn't asked for any of this.

_Anything? _I didn't know if that was a sigh of the wind in the trees, a murmur from the gods, or a whisper from my own wobbling sanity. _Everything? Even him?_

I raised my head, startled. _Would_ I trade Casavir to regain the innocence of West Harbor? It sickened me a little that I even had to consider it, but like lancing a wound, I forced myself to endure the pain. In a way, it was almost a relief. All of this must have been festering for so long.

If I would do that, everything I'd ever told him about my love for him was just a pretty lie I had sold. The more I considered it, ruthlessly dragged my feelings up to examine every facet of them; I knew I wouldn't trade him. I'd expect him to come with me and live the life I wanted, but I drew the line there. I hadn't loved him well, maybe, but I loved him enough to admit that he was one of the best things that had ever happened to me.

I still hadn't been willing to bend at all to fit my life to his. And the answer was dawning on me with the realization of how I'd glorified West Harbor and my life there since I had left, and particularly since it had been destroyed. When I was there, I couldn't wait to leave. If Daeghun hadn't kicked me out after the Harvest Fair, I'd made plans to strike out on my own the next spring. So I'd wanted to win the last Harvest Cup I expected to be there for.

And now I'd seen that there were far worse fates than Daeghun's coldness, the awkward attempts by the Mossfeld boys to talk me into their beds, and sheer boredom. I wanted my simple problems back. I wanted to still be that Harbor ranger, free and innocent. How many times since Highharvesttide had I dwelt upon that young woman I had been: idolized her, tried to find her still in me? That showed just the symptom of the sickness.

Cas had barked at me last night in his dream that I was so much more than just a simple village girl. I'd denied it, struck back at him in anger. Truth was I didn't _want _to be more. I didn't want to be a hero, a noble…any of it. There were days when I just wanted to leave it all behind and slip away into the woods. I'd spent the last three years trying to escape what happened to me by pretending that I could just leave everything behind if I chose.

I'd endured too much, lost too many people I'd loved. Maybe it was my defense against the horrors I'd seen to cling so fiercely to the past. If I could only keep hold of what had been, none of that had to touch me. But that meant I couldn't take the few good things to heart either, because I'd have to accept that my life had changed. No wonder I hadn't ever really let Cas close to me. To take him into my heart and bed was one thing. But to truly take him as my husband, my equal, the father of my children, until the end of our days—I gave up sole autonomy, the right to just run away someday if my responsibilities grew to be too much to bear. Genuine marriage meant I'd have to make decisions based on a partnership rather than just my wishes. Casavir Erelissohn, gods help us both, was the most dangerous threat to my illusion.

What a fool; too busy jealously guarding a past I had long ago lost to see what good things I had. I'd hurt him not just last night, not just this month, but for a long time now. Even in the midst of my madness, I'd known the truth—he was the most valuable thing in my life. I couldn't lose him, whatever it took to set it right. Hells, I'd beg and grovel if I had to.

With that, I came to a decision. "Lyris?" I sent up the mental call.

I heard a quiet _kek-kek_ and looked to see her perched nearby on a gnarled tree branch. Her black feathers hid well in the shadows of the thick forest; only the few flashes of white gave her away. A wave of relief washed over me to see here there. She'd been there, keeping watch over me—a true friend, when I probably didn't deserve one right now. With a _crack _of spread wings, she took wing and lazily glided towards me, lighting on my shoulder.

The thick elk leather of this jerkin, like many others, was scarred from Falyris using her favored perch—me. She knew she couldn't stay for too long; a bird weighing a full stone and a half got to be too much. But she reached out with her beak, large as a man's hand and capable of tearing flesh to shreds, and delicately preened my hair for a moment. I smiled a little at that; from an eagle, that showed a profound affection. Our bond was close enough that she felt how upset I was. She might not understand it—how could animals of the wild understand this kind of fight with a mate? But yet she wanted to reassure me. "Yes, _ilanaak_?" she said, affection in her tone.

I ruffled the feathers on her breast for a moment, soft beneath my fingers. "I know the trees are thick here." And her wingspan was longer than a man's height; she was made for life in the coasts and plains, not the forests. She'd have to fly above the trees rather than among them like a smaller hawk could. Still, she could maybe help me. "But can you go across the river and start looking for Casavir?" I took another breath. "And if you find him, call for me, and tell him to wait. He and I have to talk. I'll be tracking him myself in just a bit, but I have to take care of something first."

She gave a quiet squawk of, "All right," and took off. I watched her disappear into the treetops then sighed and looked back at the river. I had to handle this problem myself, but asking for a little aid from the gods mightn't hurt. Mielikki was known to take pity on a wounded creature, and while my hurts were internal, there were plenty of them that I was only now starting to appreciate were still very raw.

My hands were a little uncertain, with my finally comprehending how much I had at stake with my next few hours. But somehow I managed to get my clothes off and even leave them somewhat neatly on the riverbank. I slid into the water, hissing immediately at the kiss of cold against my skin. I ducked under the surface, let the current swirly around me and just got myself fully wet; best to get it over with and hope it started feeling warmer soon.

Standing there with the sand and mud of the bottom beneath my feet, I couldn't help shivering anyhow. All right, I was a ranger and used to bathing in some cold waters; Cas and I had taken a bit of a cool bath in the woods that Greengrass. But Mielikki, this was close to _freezing_. I was getting soft living in a massive castle, I decided. And the last time I'd done this was when I was receiving my tattoos as a servant of the Woodswalker at seventeen. That had been in Flamerule, and further south near West Harbor besides. But logically, the harder it was to endure, hopefully the better the purification. Gods knew I needed all I could get just now; I managed a shaky laugh between my chattering teeth. I had plenty of sins to be washed away.

I started to shut out everything but the rite: the cold, the worries, even the tickling sensation of fish bumping now and again against me. Breathing deeply, I tried to cast my mind out into the living consciousness of the forest around me, to find the seat of Mielikki's power.

My thoughts instead drifted to another cleansing rite in equally frigid waters. Not mine, however. Casavir had spent most of that last night before we reached Old Owl Well twitchy and restless as a rock-cat. I remembered noticing he'd sewn up the blade rents in his cloak and surcoat, carefully tended his armor and weapons. That seemed odd in a man sitting there with almost a full growth of facial hair, who had shown no real evidence of vanity. He'd excused himself, murmuring about needing a shave, and wandered away into the night.

I'd been scouting for orc patrols not too long after that, and accidentally come across him in one of the waterfall pools near our campsite. It was the quiet sound of singing that drew me. An odd fellow, our paladin, who had spoken rarely and of little, but the few times I'd heard him raise his voice in song during battle, it had been entrancing. No, I'd just wanted to listen, not look. I wasn't a prude, but I respected privacy. The fact that he was the only human male in our group, tall and strong and courteous, had nothing to do with it—so I convinced myself.

I'd heard the catch in his voice as I crouched nearby, hiding behind a boulder. Small wonder, I thought with a smile; the silly fool was taking his bath in waters that were pure icy snowmelt. Then something caught my ear and I really listened. It wasn't just idle song he was giving that night. My Thorass wasn't great, but even I could hear the words beseeching Tyr for wisdom, for justice, for guidance. Far from washing off orc blood and the dust of hard travel, he was conducting a purification ritual.

And with that, I'd heard the wavering and gasping in his words in an entirely different light than him just being chilly. With a shock as cold as the water must have been for him, I realized what I heard was his fear and uncertainty. He might even have been weeping for all I knew. We would make Old Owl Well in the morning, and clearly he was terrified. I didn't know then what frightened him so much, why he had left Neverwinter, but his small acts around the fire actually made sense. He'd cleaned his gear, mended his garb. I'd read stories about warriors who prepared to face battle looking their finest. That was what he had been doing, and suddenly it seemed anything but vanity. Whatever awful fate he thought he faced in the morning, he wanted to confront it as more than just a shabby, scruffy wilderness warrior.

He'd traveled a tenday with us to that point and all I'd seen was the calm exterior of a holy warrior, steady and sure. He'd shown no hint of this terror. I felt like just by overhearing him, he was suddenly more naked to me than if I'd been peeking. And at the same time, as much as I ached for him, embarrassed at having inadvertently happened on him at a private moment, I couldn't be fully sorry. He suddenly seemed human to me, I thought, as I slipped away to keep up my patrol. And I wanted desperately to defend him against whatever threat he faced, as he had guarded my back countless time already.

When he came back to the camp, damp and clean shaven and utterly composed, I said nothing about hearing him. Even now, I still hadn't told him about that night. But when we shared the watch, I'd tried to reach him anyhow. I'd told him that the struggles of my friends were mine to share, and that I'd stand by him whatever he faced. He'd thanked me, a hint of that rough tremor of emotion in his voice. From that day on, something had changed between us, and our friendship grew.

Just as I was now, he'd been wracked by disgrace and remorse and dread. And yet he'd been ready to face his fate, though for all he knew, he might pay with his life. I wouldn't die for what I did. But I could only pray to the gods that unlike him, I wouldn't have to face what came next alone.

Even when I should have been emptying my mind of everything but the grace of Mielikki, Cas filled my mind. And gratefully I seized on the fact that there had been good things between us, kindness as well as mistakes. Even when he was still mostly a stranger, I had cared enough to want to help him.

My skin was cold enough that at first I barely felt the tears sliding down my cheeks. Any thoughts of finding the proper words of ritual fled. I thought at first it was like Cloverton all over again—and yet not. I had wept that night for the past, and like a child far too old for its baby blanket, I had clutched the tattered remains, unable to let go. I also lamented now for what I had lost, giving in to howls and sobs of grief and sorrow. I opened the wounds again.

But this time the hurt was good, because—please gods, let it be so—it would heal me. I offered up everything of the past three years, all that I had suffered. Those who had sought to use me, those who had died, the things I could never regain. All my sacrifices I let go. They fell with my tears, mingled into the waters of the river, and it was as though I could feel them being swept downstream. By the time they reached the ocean, they'd be nothing, just a few more droplets of salt in a fathomless expanse.

Finally it was done, the last bits of corruption worked out from my soul. I felt strangely light, as though I myself might just float down the river. Chalk that up, I thought with a nervous giggle, to the combination of unburdening my cares and the fact that I was probably numb from the chill by this point.

Grasping some of the reeds by the water's edge, I managed to climb out of the water. I couldn't avoid a quiet curse at having to put my clothes back on over damp skin; not the easiest of tasks. As I finished fastening my belt over my jerkin, it struck me: though I felt cleansed I hadn't managed any prayer to Mielikki.

I started to kneel down, ready to try again. Falyris hadn't found Cas yet, since she'd sent me no word. A few minutes more to plead for some more aid wouldn't make me lose his trail. There was a sudden snapping and rustling in the bushes to my right. Years of instinct made me spring back to my feet, turning towards the sound.

It could be a harmless beastie or a tenant of the lands. But likewise, it could be bandits or even worse. Who knew what weird things could be in these woods as a remnant of the King of Shadows? I didn't have much desire to end up as a manticore's dinner. Not now, when I'd _finally _gotten a few truths through my thick skull. That would be awful irony; to die on my way to reconcile with Casavir. Kelemvor and I had mostly patched things up after I had fought Akachi, but I had a feeling even he might get a laugh out of that.

Cas had taught me to throw knives, but I had a marksman's eye far before that. If I had to fight, I had only one dagger at my belt, so best to wait and not waste it. But whatever it was, I had been wrong. As I listened intently, my ear picked up that the noise coming towards me was far too loud to be a man, even a massive one. An animal of some kind, I decided, and took my hand a little away from the dagger hilt. I'd try to talk to it first, but I stayed on the alert in case.

As the thick undergrowth gave way and the ruckus revealed itself, I looked to the bear now standing maybe fifteen feet away. There was good reason it had sounded big. This wasn't the shy, black-furred wood bear native to these parts. It was a winter bear. The massive beasts got their name from those who survived dangerous encounters during the lean, cold season the bears spent in the mountain heights; that and the silvery-white tipping that developed on their fur as they aged.

Easily double the weight of a wood bear, it—she, I amended—was thick with her stored summer fat. Young; the silver had barely started on her reddish-brown fur. She hopefully wasn't a sow protecting cubs. Running would be stupid. Even with her autumn bulk, she could still outrun me—and many other animals. My best hope was to try and assure her I meant no harm, try to direct her home, and then get the hell out of the way. She was probably on high alert, having wandered several days away from her familiar home territory. If it was out of desperation to find the food she needed to survive the winter, she'd be extremely dangerous.

I moved towards her slowly, sending a careful tendril of mental connection. I'd spent months traveling with Okku and learning his ways. And in his life, he had been an ice bear from the northern glaciers. Theirs was the most massive and fickle-tempered of the three bear races. So I had less fear of attack than even most rangers, let alone the ordinary folk. But exercising some ordinary prudence wasn't a bad idea. Considering her likely confusion, it was downright wise. I glanced towards the river and the leaping salmon, wondered if the smell of food had drawn her here. Well, either that or Mielikki was just going to have me get eaten by a big damn bear as punishment for my various stupidities.

But I didn't sense the red haze of anger in her, and she accepted my mind nudge. I breathed a sigh of relief. "Welcome, sister of Okku," I said, giving a small, submissive dip of my head.

She lumbered over to me, the long claws and large feet giving her a hitching gait. Her dark brown eyes looked me over, and she inhaled deeply to get my scent. I held my breath, hoping she'd stay calm. But her actions so far seemed peculiarly deliberate rather than the confused alarm I'd expected.

Her voice, when she finally spoke to me, was surprisingly soft and mild. Then again, I had no idea of a winter bear's natural voice; I'd never spoken to one before. "Not him. But," she let out what almost sounded like a pensive growl, "smelled him here. You, his mate?" She sniffed again inquisitively, her nose now little more than a handspan from me. "Yes."

"My mate?" I asked, glancing at the winter bear in confusion. What did she want with Casavir? I was the one the gods probably should be punishing.

She let out an impatient _whuff_, and a faint smell of the rich, oily salmon she'd fed on—the same fish Cas and I had been catching earlier—drifted out along with it. "Chosen of Tyr…chosen of Okku. _My _bonded."

She stood up on her hind legs then to get a better vantage as she looked around. "_Bonded_," she called for him. I heard the tenderness she gave the word in my mind, even as my ears heard only a deep-throated roar.

All right, that was a bit of a shock. I _still _didn't know that much about paladins. I knew they had companions like us rangers, but I'd been under the impression the gods usually sent a warhorse. You couldn't exactly ride a winter bear into battle. Though he had some ranger's skills from his years in the wilds; that was undeniable. And now that he had trained Khosatek, maybe he had no need of another horse, and this companion filled another role. The she-bear's words echoed in my head. "Chosen of Tyr…chosen of Okku." Maybe the god of justice and my old fish-eating friend were somehow in this together. Okku had certainly seemed very friendly towards Cas in the few tendays they spent together.

I couldn't help a nervous snort; this entire day had been kind of surreal. "Well, at least Kila doesn't act as a totem spirit," I muttered. The bear would make some people nervous; I knew that well from the wood bears some of my brother and sister rangers had as companions. A winter bear, much bigger and fiercer, would cause…oh, about ten times the ruckus. But anything sent by the telthor goddess of dragons would have made them all die of fright on the spot.

Standing there, I couldn't help but remember being twenty-three and roaming near West Harbor. Falyris had come to me one day in spring, a cliff eagle out of place in the swamps: just like this bear was out of her home now. The initial shock and awe at the sign of divine favor…and then the awkwardness of the early days. That was from the sudden intimacy of a soul-bond between you and another, so abrupt and uncertain compared to the gradual knotting of the ties from romance or having a child. We'd had our rough moments dealing with it. But Mielikki had been wise to send Lyris to me right then. We had worked through our initial difficulties by the time we started on the road to Neverwinter seven months later. And she'd been an invaluable friend and ally during all my adventures since.

The sheer amazement, the embarrassing inadvertent intrusions on inner privacy, the fear of rejection, and the occasional irritation, but above all the love from the truest kind of friend: it seemed that was now Casavir's fate. I glanced at the bear, not exactly sure how to tell her that I was worrying about his return. When he'd said he'd come back when he could, some tiny part of me couldn't help but fear that he hadn't meant any time today. No—he was a paladin, he loved me. His loyalty was steadfast. He wouldn't have _left,_ not for good. I tried to convince myself of it, anyhow.

"Bonded come to me?" Now a note of uncertainty crept into her voice, matching my own fear. If we worried about the bond, they likewise had the gods-enlightened intelligence to feel the same. Whether their bonded would be kind, would be willing to accept them as an equal and friend. And for a wild creature like this, coming into the stone walls of the Keep was going to make her nervous as well.

I nodded, tried to reassure her, tried to reassure myself. "He went across the river for a walk, so you probably lost his scent when he walked over the rocks. It'll be all right. He's a good man. He…" I groped for something to say that she would understand. Falyris had understood the growing relationship between Casavir and me with no problems. With eagles, a male and a female bonded together and raised their chicks—it sounded a lot like us humans. But that would be a concept alien to this bear; male bears left the females after breeding. If they met later, the males killed the young to incite another mating, leaving the female carrying his own cubs. No wonder the females were so fiercely protective if even half of their own species would kill their babies. But the idea of a male caring for his mate, let alone his young, was going to be confusing to a bear newly touched by the gods.

"He's strong," I finally said. "And he's a grand fighter." A bear would definitely respect that. "But our males? They're not like yours. If they mate and just leave you, they're bad. The good ones, they look after you and the cub. And he does that." He may not have given his feelings as generously as I'd have liked, I realized, but I never doubted he would guard Marrin and me with his life. That was far more than many men would do. He was far better a man, even with his flaws, than I had wanted to give him credit for.

The ears which had been lowered almost to her head perked up to hear me call her bonded a good person and a great fighter. "Names?" she asked anxiously.

"He's Casavir. Our cub is Marrin. And I'm Lianna. What's yours?"

"Rhellakys," the low rumble came to my ears.

I looked at her again, turning the nervousness in her voice and her stance over and over in my mind. She was alone, and had to be frightened and bewildered at this world of humans, so different from the realm of bears. She knew nothing about the man she'd been sent to find, had never seen him before. But the gods had arranged it, and told her it was their plan that she'd be bonded to this stranger until death. And all she had to trust in was that the choice had been wise and that he was someone with a good heart who would be kind to her for the rest of her life.

And yet here Rhellakys stood, brave and outwardly calm, ready to meet her fate. I felt shame piercing me sharp as an arrow at her courage. I had chosen Casavir, willingly bound myself to him as his wife. But for all we'd been through together, I had never really allowed myself to trust him completely. And here was a bear, scared and alone, ready to believe the gods and trust a man she'd never met.

I closed my eyes, reached for the amulet at my neck, rubbing the smooth jadestone warmed by my skin between my fingers. _The Just God's gift to my husband, aye, but is this your answer to me also, Woodswalker? If one of your creatures can open her heart to him from nothing but hope then I can do no less. _

I looked at her, surprised to feel myself suddenly smiling. "You can follow his trail?" I asked. She gave her assent to that. "Then let's go find him." Lyris was probably having poor luck, trying to spy him while being forced to fly above the dense growth of trees. But between my ranger's sight and Rhella's keen nose, he shouldn't be too hard to follow. I called to Falyris and told her to leave off and go hunt for her own supper; I was taking up the search myself from the ground. She didn't need to concern herself with the apologies I had to make to Casavir, or his meeting his own companion.

We made it across the river, and from there, following him was child's play. He was a good-sized man in a hurry taking no care to cover his trail, and the recent rains had left patches of mud that kept clear tracks besides. I'd been hunting tracks like these by the time I was nine or ten. Aside from that, the winter bear's keen smell made the task even easier. Still, it hit me with a little pang of worry to see how far we'd come from the river. I judged we'd come over two miles and still hadn't found him. And oddly, the tracks made it seem more like he was moving quickly, sometimes even running. That wasn't the storming walk of a man caught up in his temper.

What or who had he been running from, though? I didn't see the fresh tracks of anything else to explain it. I turned to Rhella, following close behind me. "Do you smell anyone else here?"

She took a deep sniff, and gave a chuffing sound as she pondered what she had discovered. "No animals. No humans. But…strange scent. Not just him nearby." She sounded as uneasy as I felt. I reached a hand out to touch her, reassure her, and quickly thought better of it. Touching another person's companion was something of a taboo unless you had permission. I'd taken too much from him with my glib assumptions already.

I settled for, "It's probably nothing," trying to quell the disturbing feeling rising in me. But then I saw bright blue up ahead—his autumn cloak. Moving slowly, like I was in a dream, I put out a hand to halt Rhella. "Let me take a look," with a calm I didn't feel.

Casavir lay sprawled on the ground at the base of a tree—oh Tyr and all the benevolent gods, it was a _linden_. And though I hoped desperately, I saw he wasn't moving. My heart leapt into my throat. _What have I done to him?_


	14. Love Actually

_**Casavir**_

_Marpenoth 14, 1386 DR_

The pain suddenly exploded bright and terrible in my head, which felt akin to an ingot of iron pounded to and fro on Jacoby's anvil. As I opened my eyes, it ebbed down, until it was a bearable twinge.

Confused, I realized I was lying on the ground, and the damp was seeping through my jerkin and shirt. Trying to move, I suppressed a groan at the aches of protest in my joints. Vaguely I cast around, trying to gather my scattered thoughts, and it came back to me as I remembered what had happened: Tyr and his words, the new knowledge of purpose. And, of course, how he'd laid his hand on my shoulder, and the unbearable force of divine glory from his touch—that must be the source of the soreness. It felt as if I'd spent the day in a melee being beaten black and blue.

"That was interesting," I murmured, feeling the ridiculous urge to laugh, words coming slow with my tongue feeling thick and heavy.

"What?" I heard the question coming from above me, and as I managed to sit halfway up, blinking to bring my eyes into focus, I saw Lianna leaning over me. She murmured a spell—the healing spell, I realized suddenly—and her hands glimmered with the pale green of Mielikki's blessing as her champion. She touched my face, gently, almost a caress. The warmth of healing magic went through me, a soothing balm to the hurts. I barely managed to restrain myself from making any sound from the sudden relief of pain—gods, it felt wonderful.

Clarity seemed to return, and I managed to fully sit up, however lacking in grace my movements were. She leaned back, kneeling on the ground beside me. It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I was all right and she needn't be worried about me. The last thing I wanted to do was trouble her. Then it struck me that it seemed ungrateful to meet her obvious concern with that sort of dismissal. And I couldn't lie, but it was a shading of the truth to pretend away my moments of weakness—perfectly well men usually didn't end up in an unconscious heap on the ground. _Truth,_ I reminded myself. _ And_ _trust._ _You owe her those._

Rubbing my eyes, I managed a small smile, trying to ignore the unease gripping my heart at what might come next. If things between us couldn't change…still, she was here now. She came to find me. "I'm fine now. But," I took a deep breath, "thank you."

Only now did she take her hands from my face, and only now did I look at hers. It startled me; her eyes were red and puffy, her hair was damp, her cheeks flushed, and around a tentative, tremulous smile, she was biting her lower lip. She'd been crying, and crying hard. But though her eyes on mine were soft with concern and apology, there was the glimpse of a steady determination as well. Whatever had happened in the time since I'd left her side, she looked about as profoundly affected as me.

She was, I realized with a sense of wonder, lovelier to me in that moment than ever she had been. We looked at each other for a long moment.

"Cas, I've been so damned selfish—"

"I've been a stupid fool, Lia—"

As though our thoughts suddenly united, we blurted it out virtually in the same instant. She smiled again, shrugging helplessly, and I let myself believe that things might be all right.

I waited politely to see what she might say next, though so many things all were jumbled up inside of me eager to be spoken. That I forgave her though she'd hurt me, that I hoped she might forgive me, that I wanted desperately to stay with her, that there was no conflict in me any longer…and most of all, that I loved her.

So I found myself a bit puzzled when she simply watched me, silent. _Predators watch and wait out their prey's moves_, some dark corner of my mind warned. I tried not to be horrified at the thought—_you're human and they sometimes think idiotic things, all you have to do is just not __act__ on them_. Certainly, all fine and good to tell myself that my life had taken a different turn after my encounter with Tyr, that I was a changed man. But with a bit of rueful resignation, I grasped that such a change was going to take a while. I would have train myself out of the old ways and bad habits that had become second nature. With an effort, I swatted the unworthy thought down like a pesky mosquito. This was my wife. Whatever her sins, whatever I might have shouted at her a few hours past, she didn't see me that way.

Finally, I got it: she was waiting on me. Strange feeling, that—I'd become used to following her direction. Hers was a strong temperament, and a decisive one; patience had never been her forte. She was expected to lead, and so she did. My place was to support her in her endeavors. I was her man, loyal and true, and did my work without complaint. So long as the day was won, that was glory enough.

Well and fine for a captain and her lieutenant in battle. But both of us had just assumed those roles in our marriage as well, and perhaps that was why things tangled up so miserably. For her to willingly give over the situation to me now was a delicate, intangible gift. But it marked how everything had suddenly shifted, how things between us could be made new from this moment on.

Deliberately I reached out and took her hand in mine. "I've been cold to you," I said at last. "I-I thought of you as a distraction to my purpose, gods help me. I wanted to love you, but I was too scared." I smiled apologetically. "Even paladins can be afraid of some things. I can bear many things, but losing you, especially through my own folly…I'm not strong enough for that." Finally I found the words. "You're the most important part of my life."

She gave a quiet gasp, almost a sob, and her hand tightened in mine. "I'm sorry," she said in answer, her words coming in a rush, almost a torrent. I knew the feeling. "I've been high-handed and arrogant with you. So many times I've I pushed until you gave in, because I knew I could make you do it. This last tenday was the worst, but I never treated you like anything but mine to command in any way I wanted. I've been stuck in the past, trying to find who I used to be and being angry that I can't. I've cried so much over what's lost to see what good things I've gained too. And I can't lose you—I can't—because you're the best of it."

How could I do anything then but to draw her close? I closed my eyes, reveling in the rightness of it, like coming home. Aye, it would be all right. There was work to do fixing our marriage, but we would make it. I had faith in that.

"There's enough divine power crackling around this area that the simplest mundane could pick up on it. And…Cas?" Her words were soft, but I could hear her concern. "I cast True Seeing when I found you." Her fingers clenched in the wool of my jerkin as she tensed. She was probably keeping in mind how I'd reacted to her earlier revelations. "To see if you'd been…I sensed all that energy and…and…I thought that Tyr had punished you or Cyric had tormented you or…_gods_, I was scared as all the hells. Your spirit was all right, but your aura? I've seen it before since Mielikki gifted me with the power—it always looked sapphire and white to me. It's different now. Purple tinge too, and so bright it almost hurt." A few moments of quiet and she finally asked directly. "What happened to you?"

I admitted I marveled at the gentle concern in her voice. Before this, I knew I'd tried to put up a brave, implacable front, and she'd confessed that she had been too absorbed in her own issues anyhow. "Tyr and I had a talk," I said, hearing the laughter in my own voice. "It's a long tale. It's getting late, and I wouldn't mind a mug of ale while I tell it."

She smiled in answer, sliding her fingers through mine and catching hold again just before we would have broken touch. "Then we'll head back. I wouldn't mind some dinner either. Let's pick up the salmon." At the mention of the fish, her eyes went wide and startled. "Oh! Oh, gods! I almost forgot." She turned on her heel, towards the thick undergrowth surrounding the grove. "You can come in now," she called, the soft reassurance still in her voice.

Who was she calling to? I smiled to myself. She was a ranger. Most likely she'd found some injured creature, and wanted to bring it to the castle for further healing. Before, she'd just have dragged it in. But now she wanted my permission for something so obvious? Touching, really, but she didn't need to carry her contrition to this point. I had no desire to entirely overturn the matter and have me become the master and her take the role of the meek servant. "Lia, no need to ask, of course you can bring it ba—"

The words died away as it came into sight. This was no wounded falcon or fox. This was a huge winter bear. There should be none of them here, this far from the forests and mountains. Was this a sign? Tyr's style was usually more large dogs and the like, but this—a sign meant only for me? Almost by reflex, my hand went to my amulet. With it, I wore the sign of the god and the spirit who claimed me; the silver runes of Tyr on the winter bear claw of Okku.

Cautiously, the bear padded closer to me, its head lowered and its ears back. I knew enough of animals to see that it was frightened. "Don't be afraid. We'll look after you," I said as reassuringly as I could, while I looked for signs of wounds.

She—I noted it was female—stopped only a few feet from me. She raised her head and her dark brown eyes met mine. Not too difficult a task for an animal that even on all fours came to the middle of my chest; she was almost to Lia's shoulder, in fact. If she stood on her hind legs she'd tower over both of us.

She gave a soft growl. Gifted with wildspeech, I heard what she really said. "_Ilanaak_," a word of an old, long-dead tongue from a people who honored totem spirits and joined to some of them in companionship. _Bonded_, she called me.

I heard it, and I knew the truth of it, the quiet sound of her voice striking some answering chord in my own soul. Tyr had urged me to accept all the help I could get. I'd never had a companion before; a mark of divine favor that I'd doubted I could ever prove worthy of having. Apparently in accepting my place and my true self, I had done it.

I reached out to touch her, put my hand on her head, running my fingers through her thick brown fur. "_Kammak_," I said softly in answer, calling her by her own title, claiming her as she claimed me, acknowledging that bond.

She surged forward at that. As humans went I was tall and fairly strong, but compared to a bear weighing over half a ton, I was a fragile thing. So a simple affectionate nudge for her was enough that I ended up knocked flat on my ass.

Well, at least I didn't end up unconscious for the third time that day. Looking up at her peering down at me with concern—if she'd had an expression it would have definitely been chagrin—I couldn't help myself and just started laughing. "Never mind it, _kammak_," I reassured her. "I'll be all right." Conscious of towering over her when I stood and being a little unnerved at sprawling on the ground, I knelt to bring me about level with her eyes. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Rhellakys." She paused. "_Ilanaak-nuliak_ told me names of you, her, and cub," she added helpfully. I translated that idly, having heard Falyris and Lianna conversing enough to be familiar with most of the definitions of relation and kin. "Bonded's female mate"—gods knew that sex of a creature was crucial to the tenor of relations in many cases, so it was only natural that the companions' terms should make the distinction. Apparently Lianna had told her my name, her own, and Marrin's.

I nodded. "Then I—_we_," I amended, glancing over to Lia looking back at me with a mixture of amusement and barely suppressed pride, "welcome you, Rhella." I cleared my throat, gestured back towards the direction of the Keep. "We were about to head home."

I met Lia's eyes, saw the quirk of her eyebrow, and read the implicit question. _What do we do with her?_ An eagle was one thing; even Bishop's wolf was more or less like a large hound in the view of the guards. But a bear might frighten them.

_We'll deal with that when we get there_, I thought a little wearily. Gods knew the poor bear was probably going to be scared at the thought of coming in to stone walls with so many people to begin. I thought that coming into the castle proper would be too much for her tonight. Vaguely I remembered the limestone caves and tunnels dotting the lands around the Keep; a few of the smaller caves were even within the walls. One of them might do for her to have a den to feel safe in.

The rest of the evening was…interesting, to say the least. The Greycloaks were alarmed, Rhella was alarmed. Some shouts and growls ensued, and prompted rapid explanation to the men that she was my companion and not to be harmed, and to the bear that these people were supposed to be there. So we averted disaster and settled Rhella in for the night, with the promise that I'd come for her in the morning. She seemed happy to disappear into her new den and have some safe place to retreat to, away from the noise and the crowds. I watched her go, waves of sympathy coming over me. Poor thing; it was clear to me already that there was going to be a good deal of explanation and adjustment for both the bear and I for this to become a bond like the one Lianna shared with Falyris.

As for Lianna and I, after Marrin was fed and settled, we talked long into the night. Probably, I acknowledged with some amazement, the most confidence we had shared since we had met two and a half years earlier. Parts of it hurt like ripping off bandages stuck to a wound; other parts left me feeling laid open to the bone for her scrutiny. But when I looked at her and saw she shared the doubts and the vulnerability of it all; it forged some kind of bond between us that let us both endure the hardship. And after the rough parts were over, and that strange new intimacy forged, we turned to far more pleasant things. Hopes for the future for the Keep, the tenants, our little girl…and what dreams we had for us. I knew now we both were fiercely committed to there _being_ such a thing. I might have said it yesterday as well, but now I actually believed it, knew its truth, without hesitation.

When morning came, I definitely felt the effects of the day before. I tried to leave without casting a small healing spell and maybe waking Lianna. Noticing my hobbling shuffle and stifling a groan at the thought of the motions involved getting dressed made me give it up for a bad job. Well, that and the fact that while we were both normally sound sleepers anyhow, the exhaustion of looking after a new infant meant that we slept like the dead when we had the chance. I managed to mutter the spell and feel like a human being again, while Lianna barely stirred.

I collected Marrin, since by a glance out the window at the rising sun, I knew she'd be waking soon and letting us know it. Best to let Lia sleep in if she could; I'd readily admit that nature was absolute hell on a new mother's restfulness, more so than mine. Unlike her, I could roll over and go back to sleep if our daughter was hungry, though admittedly I tried to give Lianna some sympathetic company.

I was fortunate; Marrin was stirring but not hungry yet, and I managed to bundle her up against the nippy autumn morning while she was still drowsy. She clutched her tiny fists in my cloak, gurgling and looking up at me with curious eyes, which had stayed as blue as mine. "Morning, sweetling," I said pleasantly, grinning at her. "There's someone you should meet." I got a toothless smile in answer at that.

I walked down to the lower tier of the keep's grounds, following the twisting gravel path around the back towards the limestone caverns. Cool and dark, most of them were being used already as natural larders for the storage of cheeses, drink, meat, and the sort. One of the larger ones, not fitted with a door by our carpenter Narrah, now housed a rather large young winter bear. We'd already had an interesting discussion about her living next door to a significant portion of the winter food stores sheltered by wooden doors and locks that would be no obstacle to her. Rhella had huffed good-naturedly and said that she was about ready for winter herself anyhow.

I stepped just inside the mouth of her cave, mindful to not intrude too far onto her privacy. "Blessings of the day, _kammak_," I called. "Will you come out and talk with me?"

A low rumble, echoed and amplified by the stone walls, greeted me. "New scent….cub's with you?"

"Aye, she is," as Marrin gave a low bleat of complaint herself at the sudden cool darkness of the cave. As I moved back into the sunlight and waited, I heard the shuffling sound of her paws moving against the bare rock, and Rhellakys ambled into view. Somehow, her sleepy demeanor and grumpy grumble reminded me a bit of Lianna—though I'd never say so. My wife was assuredly not keen on mornings. I admittedly wasn't either; I'd get up if I had to for training or prayers, but I wasn't a man who naturally got up at the crack of dawn. "Breakfast?" I offered.

She chortled. "Don't eat human cubs, _ilannak_," she teased.

"Very funny," I said wryly. "I thought you should meet her, though."

I stopped to sneak a ham from one of the caves nearby for her breakfast. We really must have made quite a sight for the Greycloaks. I had a baby in one arm and on the other side a ham slung over my shoulder in its linen bag. Rhella prowled by my side, giving the ham a curious sniff now and again.

We settled down by the godswood; it was one of the more secluded places on the castle grounds. I took a few of the apples ripe on Lathander's tree, giving my particular thanks this morning to the gods of new beginnings. I paused to cut a slice of the ham with my dagger for myself—it would go well with the apples for breakfast. Then I handed it over to Rhella, who set to eating this new food with obvious relish.

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, Marrin lying on her blanket beside me, wriggling and cooing. Rhella watched her, pausing in her meal. "Lively cub," she said with some admiration. "Strong like you and mate, someday."

I took another bite of apple and considered my answer. How to explain my own feelings on the matter to her? Bears cherished strength and battle prowess. In accepting Tyr's charge to me, I knew my life would probably be full of fights, whether by the sword or by other means. But I prayed Marrin, and any other children Lia and I might have, would know less of war and strife than we had.

In Marrin's case, I had a foreboding sense that it wouldn't be so. Not that she was the child of two seasoned warriors; that wasn't the source. The fact was that I couldn't deny Marrin had been conceived in our season of victory—in fact, on the very night before our greatest triumphs of defending this castle and defeating the King of Shadows. That circumstance gave my baby daughter, amused now by making silly faces and waving her arms and legs, a hefty streak of battle-luck. But Lianna had been taking contraceptive herbs all the time we'd been married. Granted, nothing was foolproof, though it all seemed too coincidental to not be the result of a nudge from the gods. I wondered now, looking down at her, what plan they had for her. And my heart ached to imagine it, because I saw little of peace in such a path.

Unable to find a good reply, I was almost grateful when she seized on another topic, until I heard what she asked. "Mate said human males look after cubs?" Her jaws cracked the bone of the ham as easily as I might crack a nutshell. "Bear males kill cubs so they can mate with females," she informed me.

I suppressed a wince at the brutality of it. It made me recall too well a village to the west I had traveled through during my exile years, where a woman had begged me to handle her sister's new husband, who had loathed his stepson and finally beaten him to death. The wife had provided no answers, but the bruises on her face told the tale well enough. When he fought back and I was forced to slay him, I felt little regret. Justice had been done. "I'm aware," I muttered.

She peered at me curiously. "Cub's young," she observed. "Can she have another soon?"

"I suppose so," I said, shaking my head as I decided to not try to explain human trickery of nature in order to prevent children. "We're hoping not for a while, though."

"But do you mate, even if you won't have cub?"

I turned my head and stared at her. "That's an impudent question," I managed, aware of the blood rushing to my cheeks. Her air reflected only puzzlement at my reaction. I sighed, forcing myself to calm as I realized that as a wild creature, sex was as natural to her as breathing. Shame had no place in her consciousness. "For us, mating is…is not always about cubs," I managed. Gods, and here I had thought it would be a good ten years before I'd have to have this talk with a female, when Marrin was grown enough for it. "We…do it mostly because we find pleasure in it."

She gave a comfortable-sounding scoff. "Thought so. Not just humans enjoy mating, _ilannak_." I felt myself getting even hotter at that little revelation, though sheepishly I admitted I was tempted to ask Lianna about that. "But for males, easier," she observed with a mischievous spark in her eye.

I gave a discreet cough. "Females do too, actually, if the male isn't…ah…selfish." Oh crap, really, Tyr must have been laughing himself silly right now. "At least, for humans," I amended.

"Don't know; haven't mated yet—few more seasons before I think about cubs." She gave a low chuckle. "Find a good male bear, tell me. But lucky mate you have; she says hers is a good male." Somehow, I was flattered and flustered all at once. "You not like that she says so?"

"We don't discuss it much," I admitted. "Humans are different. We sleep and we mate in private."

"We sleep in dens," she grumbled in protest. "Do you sleep and mate in your den?"

"Yes. I'll show you our room—our den—later today. If the door is open, you're welcome to come in."

"Door?"

"I'll explain," I said wearily.

"So your den is in big mountain," she nodded towards the Keep. Well, it was a large heap of stone, after all. "Where is your territory? Space surrounded by stones?"

"More than that. The area in these walls is protected. But," I quickly juggled some numbers in my head, "our actual lands extend from here almost a day's journey in any direction."

"Large territory." She sounded well pleased with that, but then gave a quizzical growl. "On my way, so many humans. Why do you not chase them off?" She looked thoughtful. "Females, maybe, you mate with?"

"I most certainly _don't_," I said immediately. "That's another thing. Males prove their worth by caring for just one female and their cubs for his whole life, rather than mating with as many as possible and abandoning them."

She gave a gusty sigh, indicating that she was as frustrated by our mutual lack of understanding as I was. "Strange thing. But maybe nice to not need to fear a male when you have cubs. Still, why do the others stay on territory?"

"I—we, that is, Lianna and I—let them stay."

"Why?"

"Look, were there wolves in your home?" She affirmed that. "You know that they run in packs. Lianna and I are the alpha humans. Everyone else is part of our pack. They help grow food and such, and we lead and protect them."

"Our males fight to claim mates and territory. Some get killed. You would die for your land, your mate and cub?"

"I wouldn't like to die only for the sake of land. But for those I love? Without hesitation," I said softly, looking down at Marrin, letting her grasp my finger in her small fist, grinning as she started trying to gnaw on it. She was a fierce little thing already, my daughter.

"Love?"

I laughed in earnest at that, picking up Marrin. "Ah, Rhella, I'm not the man to explain love—I'm just figuring it out now. Maybe nobody can. I'll say that love, real love? It's…what you feel for the things you would lay down your life to protect."

"Like me for cub?"

"Exactly."

"Here you are!" I heard behind us, and looked back to see Lianna coming towards us, waving cheerfully. "I saw you took Marri out—morning, Rhella."

"Good morning, _ilanaak-nuliak_," Rhella said formally. "Was hearing about human life."

"Good morning, _ittuk-kammak_," she returned the courtesy. That accomplished, Lia then gave a snort of amusement. "Aye, unfortunately, we humans are strange critters compared to you bears. I understand the ways of ceatures, so you can ask me questions as well, if Casavirwill permit?" She inclined her head towards me. "I wouldn't impose on your bond."

Strangely gratifying, I realized, to see that she was asking permission before just poking into my affairs. Before, she would have carved herself an automatic role because she knew more of the wilds than I did—or at least, than she thought I did. I knew plenty from my years of living rough. She'd have meant well, but there was implicit insult to that, an insinuation that I was too ignorant to handle it myself. "I'd be glad of your help," I acknowledged.

She smiled at me for it. "But now I think it's this little lass' breakfast time," and she held out her arms for Marrin, and I gave over our daughter, who cooed happily at the sight of her mother.

Feeling strangely bold, I took the few steps to the apple tree, and picked another ripe fruit. Pressing it into Lianna's hand, I said cheerfully, "Some breakfast for you as well." I leaned closer and murmured against her cheek, "And blessings of Lathander on the day, love." With that, I kissed her, not caring that Rhella was probably watching with bemused interest.

She kissed me back with definite enthusiasm, and if not for Marrin between us wriggling and fussing crabbily at her rising hunger, I might have been tempted to take her in my arms. As was, I settled for an apologetic smile. "Rhella and I will probably go for a walk; tour some of the lands. It'd be good for the tenants to know she's here." Implication being, _Good idea for the tenants to be aware that the bear belongs to me so they don't shoot her on sight in terror, and to try to explain to her that eating livestock is a bad idea._

What passed was an interesting time, to say the least. In days to come I'd have to pretty much get Rhella out throughout the lands of the Keep so the tenants could become familiar with her. I already had it in my head, though, to issue a restriction on bear hunting throughout the area just to be safe. Few enough wood bears were around, and they were shy enough that most of the tenants never saw them in the villages and fields. It was only hunters I need concern myself with, and they rarely took down a bear. Still, she was my friend, my companion, and I'd protect her no matter what.

Most of the farmers in Journey's End took the news rather well, all things considered, and I knew they'd pass the word along to other villages. Orlen Matthias, the crusty, gruff Harborman, grumbled around his ever-present cob pipe, "Long as it's not out tramplin' the crops and eatin' my cows like those beasties last fall, ye can keep a basilisk for all I care, son."

Some lords would have objected to the "son", but not me. Out here in the fields, it actually made me feel better than the formality of "m'lord". In its own way, "son" with its rough, easy familiarity told me where I stood with the ordinary folks. I never wanted to become one of those lofty, arrogant nobles like the Blacklake set I'd grown up all too familiar with. Never one of them, of course, despite my master Aribeth being a lady of Neverwinter; they called her a savage half-elven mongrel. My own pedigree was largely forgotten, because I was beneath notice, but it was largely assumed I was a brat from the Docks. And the boys of my age among the noble set had made much of it. Harcus Valessar may not have deserved to die, tricked and betrayed as I had been, but he was a miserable, selfish human being in his twenty-four years. I'd brawled with him and his fellow bullies more than once as a boy—usually paid for it by Aribeth punishing me for my lack of restraint and allowing my pride to get me into a fight. The torment eased off after the Luskan War; wouldn't do to pick on a sterling hero, of course. The peace had lasted until I botched everything with young Ophala Dathalien.

I'd encountered her very little since my return to Neverwinter from the mountains, and had avoided her entirely since Mordren paid for his crimes. But I was part of the nobility now, so in a little over two tendays I'd be forced to see her at court. Her at Pierval's side, Lianna at mine; but I didn't doubt that I could withstand it.

I realized long ago, even before I began to forgive myself for what had happened, that what I had felt for her was just the foolish yearnings of a naïve young man. I'd kissed her twice, wanting to be honorable until I could perhaps speak to her parents and Lord Pierval, and that was all I'd permitted between us. But I knew now that as convinced as I'd been that I should marry her, it was mostly gallantry to try and help out a girl in distress over having to marry a man nearly three times her age. That was a feeble firefly's glow next to the illumination and sheer heat of the love I felt for Lia.

I knew it would be awkward for all that—as if there wasn't enough awkwardness to the whole damned thing. I tried to shake off my trepidations about it. Attempting to explain to Rhella that while delicious, farm animals were _not_ a good idea to hunt certainly occupied my attention. Eventually she seemed to understand the concept that if they were fenced in or wandering around human settlements, they were off-limits. And she gave me her word that she wouldn't eat them. I breathed a sigh of relief, seeing the avoidance of many irritated villagers and farmers complaining about my companion wreaking havoc. Her sad grumbles on losing such easy prey were assuaged when I assured her that it was well that she should hunt for herself sometimes, but that I could provide for her easily. "Ham?" she said wistfully, eyes bright with eagerness.

I laughed and assured her that we had plenty of ham, and she gave a low rumble of delight at that. Our afternoon together put her at enough ease that she agreed to come into the "big stone mountain" and tour around. The Greycloaks and staff gave a few curious glances, but having a ranger as their captain had long accustomed them to various irregularities concerning wildlife.

Rhella seemed fascinated by the entire experience, saying the rooms and corridors were like a big cave system. After asking me if she could, she immediately claimed one of the spare bedrooms on the first floor as another "den", making sure it had a west-facing window. "No morning sun," she rumbled happily. "Sleep late."

I grinned at that. "You're a lady after my own heart, Rhellakys. I think Tyr did well to put us together. And know that I'll guard you well."

"See soon enough." She gave me a nudge in passing as she padded into her room and chortled as I stumbled. "But humans? No claws, silly little teeth, no fur. Like a cub, _ilanaak_; I knock you down easy. So maybe I protect _you_."

I stared at her retreating furry hindquarters and called with some alacrity, "I am _not_ little!" For the gods' sake, I was fully six feet tall, and stronger than many men of my size. Granted, I didn't have the sheer bulk of a farmer, but years of weapons and armor training meant I was certainly no weakling. I certainly could thump most other men soundly. A roar of laughter as she nudged her door mostly closed was my only reply.

I sighed, slapping my forehead with my palm. That was the best I could do? I might have explained that my "teeth and claws" were steel blades, that we didn't need fur since we had armor, and that I was quite capable of holding my own. Instead I'd acted like…well…it was the lash of wounded male pride, I admitted. Lianna would have been giggling like a girl at it. I felt myself giving in to a rueful smile at that; for so long I'd thought that humility was the simple absence of pride. And aye, pride could too easily grow monstrous and arrogant. But dignity and confidence served their purpose. Without them, you weren't humble—you were just full of doubts and vulnerable.

Ironic that it should take me, as a Tyrran, so very long to really learn the meaning of balance. But at least I believed I finally was getting it.

One of the females in my life settled in for the night, I went to dinner with Lianna. The kitchen, as ever, outdid themselves—I joked that while I appreciated the Greycloaks on the walls, she'd really found a prize in them. Stuffed with honey-roasted chicken like a pair of autumn bears, we sat talking over a bottle of good red Autumn Harbor. Full of good food and good wine, I was pretty pleased already. But somehow just talking to her without aim or necessity, just spending time in her company for the sheer pleasure of it lent the evening a quiet intimacy—and it filled me with an even deeper contentment.

She looked at me, eyes gleaming green in the candlelight, and reached out for my hand. "This is gonna sound silly with as much as we've been through. But…I really do like talking to you." Her smile wavered, dissolving to a taut grimace. "I'm sorry," she murmured lowly. "We should have done this up proper from the start. I wanted it all right away because I got impatient from waiting. And I probably should have known that the best of it isn't the sex—I mean, don't get me wrong, I _really_ enjoy that, always have—but," she took a deep breath, looked at me with a miserable, apologetic look.

I touched her cheek. "We both made mistakes. We'll do it right this time." She smiled in earnest then.

It somehow didn't surprise me that she made no moves towards me that night. Since yesterday I got the sense that she was teaching herself patience. She appeared to be holding back waiting for an indication from me; I thought it was a quiet apology for what she'd put me through since Highharvesttide. For myself, I was content to give it a while longer, to let the last of that fade behind me with these new memories we were making.

Well, that and the fact that I admitted I was biding my time waiting on a good opportunity. Gods knew things had never been ideal. Even peace hadn't exactly brought the chances we'd probably both dreamt of in those furtive hours hiding on the grounds of the Keep. A new baby threw that right out the window. Even if Marrin was asleep for a few hours to give us any privacy, there was always business that demanded attention. If it was evening, we frankly were both so tired that sleep was probably more appealing than sex most nights. Maybe I was being idealistic, but for this second chance, I was going to do this, along with most everything else between us, right or not at all. Haphazard efforts had just produced nothing but pain.

So with that sorted out in my head, it surprised me to hear her coming up behind me and put her hand on my shoulder as I was undressing that night. "Cas, have you been training too hard?"

"Mmm? Actually, I've been terribly slack these last few days. I'd better spend a few hours tomorrow." I turned to her, managing to finish getting my shirt off.

"Stand still," she said, ducking nimbly under my arm. I raised an eyebrow, wondering what in the hells she was getting at here.

She poked me on my right shoulder blade, and I grimaced at it. "Gods," she said, reverence and awe and a touch of fear in her voice. "Tyr touched you, you said?"

"Yes, he put his hand on…" _A left-handed man, facing me, puts his hand on my right shoulder._ I managed to sound calmer than I felt. "Lianna, what are you looking at?"

"I thought it was a bruise at first." She took my hand, tugged me over towards the mirror beside the bureau. "But it didn't look blotchy enough, and the color was too bright. Take a look."

Taking a peek at one's own shoulder wasn't exactly what humans were constructed for, even with the aid of a mirror. But with a little twisting, I managed to see it: a dark purple mark, in the shape of the _tiwaz_ rune of Tyr. "Gods," I said softly. "He marked me when I took my vow." After all, I bore a paladin's tattooed armbands, given by the Merciful Sword when I took my vows before them. Tyr, with his touch, had just given me his own mark to consecrate my oath as his champion.

I lay awake a while that night pondering it all, my arm around Lia. Not troubled much, strangely, but more just attempting to process everything that suddenly seemed to have come upon me all at once. Unfortunately, Lianna, even if she had fallen asleep, wasn't subject to the same peace that I was. I had noticed ever since we had begun sharing a bed that she was prone to nightmares. Gods help her, so was I often enough—the human mind and soul could only stand so much. But steadily they had increased. Bad dreams troubled her maybe once or twice every tenday during the war. After returning from Rashemen and suffering living hells that had increased. Since her downturn at Highharvesttide, when all her demons seemed to break loose, barely a peaceful night had passed.

She woke that night crying out in terror. At least she didn't demand the sort of comfort she had wanted just days before. Now she clutched at me like a lost child, trembling throughout her body and keening quietly like a wounded animal. I held her; talked to her quietly until finally her gasps and sobs turned again into the quiet, even breathing of sleep. I couldn't punish Safiya; hers was an innocent and surprisingly good soul rather than the ruthless, selfish thing her spiritual "mother" had been. But I thought that if there was some way to get my hands on the Founder I'd have given her, measure for measure, the pain she had given Lianna. And it ached like a killing blow that I couldn't give my wife any kind of justice.

That left me awake even longer, as a new idea came to me to help her. Not yet, I decided. Things were still fragile between us, but perhaps in days to come I might try it.

The next morning I went to find Kana to discuss some logistics regarding Rhella. Said bear regarded the petite woman with some bemusement. I thought-sent to her, since it would be rude to speak in front of Kana, particularly as the seneschal didn't have the skill of animal speech, "And you thought that _I _was a small being?"

"Females fierce," she sent back with a distinct tinge of amusement.

"She is that," I agreed.

"My lord," Kana said, "I'll see to it that word gets out to the villages that a winter bear shouldn't cause any alarm, nor is she to be harassed or bothered." Kana, as ever, was utterly organized and efficient. I wondered idly if a black hair ever escaped that fiercely tidy bun of hers, although I knew that her "hairsticks" were actually metal throwing darts that she was quite proficient with. Our seneschal was a capable woman, and both Lia and I counted ourselves fortunate to have her still.

"Thank you," I acknowledged. "I imagine it won't cause too much trouble. They're country folk and are more used to animals. I've already explained some of the boundaries of property and such to Rhella."

One fine black brow rose, and I earned a faint smile. "I should hope so, sir…the fewer complaints of devoured sheep, the better the goodwill amongst the tenants, and the more coin to deal with essential issues." Not missing a beat, she went on, "Speaking of, regarding Blackhorse Ford, what's to be done regarding the losses of stock to wolves?"

I mentally smacked myself for letting that fall by the wayside. "My apologies, Kana. You did bring that up a few days ago. I've been dealing with other things." It seemed like a lame excuse even as I spoke it.

"I'm aware, my lord," she said, though her black eyes betrayed a glimmer of sympathy.

I sighed, acutely uncomfortable at that. Crossroads Keep's walls held few secrets, particularly those of its leaders. Our entire lives were open to scrutiny, or so it appeared most times. "I suppose the entire Keep is aware. But hopefully they also know that things have been…resolved. And of course they can always rely on Lady Lianna and me. As to Blackhorse Ferry, I imagine you have an estimate of losses. Send Sergeant Starling, if you please, he's the best with the villagers. He should pick a few of his men who could use brushing up on that skill. Have him take gold enough for replacement stock. He'll know enough to sense who's in charge and will see it used properly." I smiled wryly. "And I know you'll remember this if we start seeing a trend."

"Of course." Too many attacks by wolves either indicated a genuine problem with wildlife, or else a village trying to line its pockets by claiming non-existent losses. I hadn't gotten that impression from Blackhorse Ford, though. "That's about all for today," she added. "As you know, with harvest done, things always slow a bit for the winter."

"Aye, that they do, although they'll come back restless as ever come spring. Gods willing we'll have a quiet winter anyhow." I turned to go, and had a thought. I took a deep breath. "Kana?"

"Yes, my lord?" She turned back to me, planting her feet exactly at shoulder width, hands clasped behind her back. I thought to ask once again that she not call me "my lord" so much, since it always felt like an ill-fitting cloak on me. She saw the expression on my face. "Sir," she amended, looking faintly sheepish.

"Thank you." I cleared my throat. "If all the urgent matters have been dealt with, and even small ones appear to be few…might I ask you a favor?" She nodded slightly. "It's my birthday on the 20th," I admitted. I'd be turning thirty—gods, what a thought.

"Congratulations, sir, are you planning some kind of…"

"No. No celebration, no party, nothing of the sort. What I need is…" I felt myself blushing, and once again cursed my fair skin. "I'd like some time with my wife. Alone," I clarified in a rush, "without disturbances." At least I could trust her discretion; it was that or I'd have to effectively order everyone to leave us the hells alone that day so we could have some privacy. I really didn't want the entire Keep aware of it.

To her credit, she didn't do anything except nod. "I'll see to it, sir; shouldn't be too difficult."

I felt myself grin sheepishly. "You know, of course, you're allowed to disturb us in case of an undead attack." At least I could laugh at that situation now. That night, at least, it hadn't mattered that the entire garrison probably knew what Lia and I were up to. I wondered where Kana had spent those final few hours; knowing her, dedicated preparations for the coming battle.

She actually laughed at the joke. "Very well."

I looked at her. "I—_we_—owe you a great deal for everything you did then, and for looking after the entire castle while we were gone. It must have been extremely difficult, and I fear we haven't repaid you enough. Your sense of duty does you credit, Captain Kana."

"Thank you," tipping her head slightly in acknowledgement.

"But take this from someone who learned it as a hard lesson. Duty and honor are important, but very few people can fulfill all their needs from them."

Now she looked startled, the flawless amber skin creasing into wrinkles of worry on her brow. "Sir, I…"

I moved a step closer and lowered my voice. "Sir Nevalle cares little for me, and even less for Lianna. But I know that you two have feelings for each other." I neglected to bring up the origin of Nevalle's irritation with me. "Both of you are dutiful enough to deny it, but loving hopelessly kills you bit by bit. _Trust me_ on that. I'll do everything I can for you with him."

That, and the thoughts it must have inspired, was enough to ruffle even Kana Beiphong's composure. I knew too well how even that faint hint of hope seemed too much to bear. It threatened to crack apart the entire world and everything that made sense. I knew, because that had been me only a few years before. Understanding and knowing what dignity meant in that kind of situation, I smiled, nodded, and bid her good day.

The next days passed swiftly enough. I sent a message to Judge Oleff in Neverwinter with the news of what had happened, asking to speak to him about it when I was there in Uktar. Some advice from a senior Tyrran, and one I respected greatly as a cleric and judge, as well as a man, would be useful. Gods knew he'd been giving me advice for over twenty years now; Oleff, Janneth, and Freija, who had become the leaders of the Triad temples in Neverwinter had been my tutors. Aribeth had arranged the best education for me during my unusual situation as a paladin apprentice. But they'd also been the closest to family I had, warmer to me than Aribeth's sometimes distant nature. I admitted I'd come to think of them as sort of like two uncles and an aunt. I may not have always known it, but I'd never really been fully alone and unloved as a child. My path might have been quite difficult, but that was still more than some had.

When my birthday arrived, I found that thirty really didn't feel much different from twenty-nine. Then again, last Marpenoth 20th I had been helping drill Graycloaks against that was sure to come, and aiding Lia, Nevalle, and Kana organize the refugees crowding into the walls for protection. The coming battle was so pressing that I hadn't even realized that I had turned twenty-nine until after I had tiredly washed off the mud from helping dig entrenchments and crawled into bed beside an equally exhausted Lianna long after midnight. And I had spent my twenty-eighth trying to console Lianna on the way back from West Harbor after its destruction. My twenty-seventh was spent tracking orcs in the Sword Mountains. Twenty-six was training a ragtag band of survivors into a wilderness fighting force. Twenty-two through twenty-five were spent in the wilds in an endless cycle of fights. Twenty-one, shortly after I fled Neverwinter, was as a stevedore on the docks of Waterdeep. Eighteen to twenty had been idleness and unhappiness at being kept cooped up in Neverwinter like a mewed hawk, kept there by the well-meaning chapterhouse masters trying to give me some peace after my ordeals, but miserable with the politics and inaction. Seventeen I had spent recovering from my wounds from the Battle of Neverwinter. For my sixteenth birthday I had watched the trial of Fenthick Moss…gods, what a dreary litany this was becoming.

With that, I resolved to try and make this a more cheerful start to another decade. I trained in the yard for the morning as was my habit, more than a bit pleased to see Rhella there growling encouragement. The Greycloaks couldn't seem to stop staring at the bear, I noticed swiftly enough. So that was the point I decided to turn this into a lesson in fighting amongst distractions—my companion was only too happy to lumber into the training yard and provide the said distraction. It took about five minutes for them to begin ignoring her stalking the perimeter, standing on her hind feet and roaring, lunging, baring her teeth, and generally chortling in satisfied glee at intimidating a bunch of silly humans. I was trying to not smile at it myself.

I observed her myself during the exercise, beginning to formulate some ideas myself of how we could work together as a team in the future. Tyr had done well indeed sending me Rhella as a friend and battle partner; even before the orcs had named me the _Katalmach_, I'd always favored getting right into the thick of things.

I passed Kana on my way back up the path to the castle, and she gave me a nod of acknowledgement to say that I had the time I had asked for. I gave a nod in return and went on my way.

Changed and cleaned up, I found Lianna in the library. I shook my head slightly and smiled; for a woman who cherished her rough-spun country image as much as she did, my wife had a definite love of books and learning. I clasped my hands behind my back, watched her for a few minutes, reveling in the simple sight of her. The gleam of sunlight through the window touched sparks of copper and bronze in her hair and traced the elegant lines of cheekbone and jaw. She'd kept a bit of the weight from Marrin, and peace had added a little more, but she carried it well on her curves. To be honest, the bit of softness suited her more than the harsh, strained look she had carried through much of the final months before the siege.

She glanced above the page, and saw me. Jumping up, she closed the book with a solid thump. "Cas!" My heart gave a little skip of pleasure hearing the warmth she gave the greeting. "Happy birthday, love," she said, as I took her hands in mine. "This one will be better than the last few, I hope."

I smiled down at her. "I'm sure of it." _Out with it, already_._ Just tell her that we have the afternoon alone and ask her if she'd like to make use of it._

"Come to our room, will you?" She grabbed my hand and tugged me towards the door of the library like an eager child. I raised an eyebrow, wondering if she'd somehow anticipated me. I followed her to my room. "Now, I got Bevil and Kat to watch Marrin during dinner, so no need to wolf the food down and go attend to her. We can have a little time to ourselves. But…I had a thing or two to give you," she explained, dropping to her knees and fishing underneath the bed. "Aha, didn't peek, did you? Honorable man that you are." She grinned and handed up a long, thin parcel wrapped in thick swaths of indigo Kozakura brocade embroidered with silver swirls.

Sitting down on the bed beside her, I undid the fabric, though I had a sense from the shape and weight what she had given me. "A _shashka_," I said with some awe, drawing the Rashemi saber from its sheath.

"I saw you brought one back with you—the Chukthal taught you, I guess?"

They had, and the strangeness of a curved blade and its different use, the emphasis on edge slashes rather than controlled point precision, had taken me a while to learn. "It was a long winter," I said wryly. "I didn't have much else to do besides study what they had to teach, but I learned a great deal." Immediately I felt terrible. While I'd spent the winter restless and sometimes bored, she'd been suffering the unthinkable. "I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me—"

She put a hand on my arm in reassurance. "It's all right. It's not your fault. And you learned what you did for a reason. For yourself, I think—you've always been out of touch with nature, with family, and the like. They taught you about that, at least, and I think now you're finally understanding it. So I thank 'em for it. Knowledge doesn't always have to be bought with pain."

I couldn't find good words for the swell of emotion that rose in me at her words, so I looked down at the sword she'd given me—lovelier than the plain, battered _shaska _I'd earned as a Rashemi warrior of the tribes. A bit longer and heavier than that one as well, this was more akin to the longsword I knew so well. It felt perfect in my hand.

I had seen far more beautiful weapons, ornate with precious metals and enamel and jewels and exotic leathers and woods. And in handling some of those, I judged when put to the test that they'd be little more than pretty-looking dross. This was certainly a sword made for battle. The only embellishment was some careful engraving of vines on the hilt and blade. But the steel showed the touch of a good smith with a critical eye. The balance, the craftsmanship, was flawless. This was a beautiful, well-made weapon, even before I took into account the aura of strong magic around it. She knew me well, to give me an excellent sword such as this as a gift.

"You must have worked quickly," I commented softly, "to find this in the tenday after I found you before we left Rashemen."

She didn't drop her gaze. "I didn't. It was something I found on my travels. And…I kept it, though it seemed kind of strange. After all, I'm all right with a sword thanks to you, but I tried a _shaska_ once or twice before I gave up. The attack and defense are all different. And it's not as though anyone with me needed it—nobody else was a swordsman. Gann favored a waraxe, Safiya had her staff, Kaelyn used a morningstar, and Okku had all the weaponry he needed. But when I was selling off other things, I put this back in my Bag of Holding, because somehow I sensed I should keep it. It seemed stupid, but I carried that thing with me for the next three months until I got the last piece of my soul from the Wall, not even knowing why."

"Do you know why now?"

"I didn't know who you were, though I'd have a mental flicker now and again of a tall, dark-haired man, especially as I gained some of the smaller pieces of my soul. But I think some part of me just _knew _anyhow…like instinct, something just beyond my conscious grasp." She smiled softly. "Just like I knew, when it came to it, the sort of person I had been when it came time to make choices. And when I remembered you, I kept that sword because it ended up being a kind of symbol that I believed I'd see you again and be able to give it to you. So…here it is."

"It's…" I couldn't find the right words.

"I forgot about it," she said with a chagrined look. "In the midst of everything finding you again, I didn't remember. Maybe I didn't _want _to, because every time I saw you practicing with your _shaska _I still didn't recall I had it, and I left in a hurry. I hated seeing it, and I never liked seeing your amulet. And gods help me, I was glad when Dasha left us just after Marri was born to go exploring towards Waterdeep. You brought so much of Rashemen back with you, and I didn't want to see it. I found it here a few days ago with all my other things from that time, and I knew. It was meant to be yours, and I'm…I'm not meant to run anymore."

"Lia," I found I could barely raise my voice above a whisper. I couldn't say exactly how, but I understood. She had let me in, gave me a key to unlock the doors that she'd shut so much of herself and her troubles behind for so long. I looked at her, and knew that she was giving me more than a sword today.


	15. Say Anything 'rated light M'

_**Lianna**_

_Marpenoth 20, 1386 DR_

The things you push aside, try to hide in a shadowed corner—they have a very bad habit of not taking the hint and staying away. That was yet another lesson that had come to me this month. Strange to think; I was twenty-seven, a hero, a wife, a mother. Maybe it was Daeghun's loveless raising that made me pretend that I was strong and that I didn't need anyone, but all the while clinging almost obsessively to what affection I had found to the point of strangling every bit I could out of it. Twenty-seven for almost four months; and only now was I really figuring out what it meant to act like a grown woman, to see that my concerns, my pains, my desires, weren't always the most important thing under the sun.

My friends had journeyed and fought with me out of loyalty and love—most of them anyhow—but I had forgotten amongst the admiration and heroism that they didn't exist merely to serve my needs. I was their leader but not their self-appointed queen. At least I had the sense to take their counsel and listen to them, but mainly out of admitting I knew hells-all about some things rather than sheer egalitarianism. Maybe that was part of the loneliness these days when I missed Khelgar's gruff boom or Sand's dry monotone. I had never thought ahead to when they'd return to their own homes, because I hadn't ever really thought about them having other lives besides with me. I tried not to wince at that conceit.

Even my Rashemi friends, who had borne with me through what had undoubtedly been the worst time of my life, I had tried to throw away. I hadn't spared them much thought since leaving Rashemen. I've given them an off-hand invitation on our parting, pure good manners rather than actual desire, to come visit me at Yule. But honestly, I didn't much expect them to bother, nor secretly had I really wanted to see them with the pain they brought back.

I had knelt beside our bed in Kythorn the day we got back to Crossroads Keep, awkward with the bulge of my pregnant belly, and decisively shoved the rucksack with all the things I had carried with me in Rashemen away into the darkness there. It had crossed my mind to just burn it, but somehow I couldn't quite bring myself to do it. Instead I hid it, and forgot. That memory had seeped back to the surface with my dealing with the rest of it. Two days ago now I had finally pulled the Bag of Holding out again and looked through it.

There was a deep green wool robe embroidered in silver, smelling of pine and earth and woodsmoke; I had worn it at the Wells of Lurue when Mielikki had called me to her service as her champion. There were various trinkets and weapons that I could look at now without the knots of loss and pain strangling me. And the sword that was meant for Cas, tucked away along with everything else.

Casavir glanced at me, holding the sword across his hands with the practiced ease of one who knew the way of a blade all too well. That was a comfort of long years of skill, true, but the difference between us was more than simple practice. I was familiar with a longsword thanks to his tutelage, but when he used one, it looked almost as though it answered to his touch.

After he had fought Logram in single combat and I had seen the terrible grace of his swordsmanship for the first time, I couldn't understand why he resorted to the ugly, brute strength of a warhammer. That was a weapon that he had made himself competent in but it held no particular affinity for him. In truth, he wielded the paired daggers on his belt with better ease and grace. Now it made a mournful sense, his forsaking the training and instincts that had let him duel Harcus Valessar—and, I suspected, the specter of killing Aribeth de Tylmarande had haunted him too. To give up all those years of training and sweat and effort because of what they had caused was a way of his showing grief and atonement.

But as I had found recently, the past doesn't take kindly to staying hidden. In Logram's lair I let him answer the orc chief's challenge of single combat and obey the demands of a paladin's honor, and I handed him the sword to do it. He had seemed ill at ease on the way back to Old Owl Well, trying to resolve how right the sword must have felt with his self-imposed abjuration. I had convinced him that he served me best by taking up the weapon he was so clearly suited to.

Absolute practicality on my part, but now I realized that had been the best possible argument I could have used. I gave him simple reason to use a sword again, to better defend me…and I also gave him back a piece of himself, though I hadn't known it at the time. But today time it was me who was reclaiming some part of myself I had lost from the pain of remembering it.

He set the sword aside, leaning towards me, his fingertips tracing across the back of my hand. "Lianna," he murmured lowly, and I closed my eyes, the spark of the affection in his voice catching so readily in me. I felt like I'd never wanted anything so much, because a few days ago I thought I might never hear it again from him.

"Wait a minute," I answered. "I…I only found the saber a few days ago. But before that, I had something else for you."

My heart fluttered nervously in my chest as I reached under my cloak and handed him a flat parcel. He untied the cord and undid the homespun cloth around it—fancy wrapping was never a skill I was going to learn—and looked at me in puzzlement as he saw an exposed fold of dyed blue-green silk, like the rich color of blue spruce needles.

"Kistrel helped me," I went on. "We've got bolts of spider-silk down in the basement like you wouldn't believe. She's been busy since she moved in; I figure we ought to see about trading some of it." When the shy giant spider had presented me with that cloak long ago, I'd see that the fabric she spun was unbelievably soft but strong, with a low luster that caught the light beautifully. When I'd decided to make this banner, I'd realized I had no time to send to Neverwinter for fabric.

It was only after an hour or so that I remembered my giant arachnid friend and erstwhile weaver, still cozy in her part of the basement. In early days here, the staff had puzzled about the mysterious disappearance of the castle's cats. I knew full well where they'd gone, but since Kistrel took care of the rodents too, I just didn't bring in more cats. "And Aldanon lent a hand with the dyes…I did the sewing…" I managed a smile somehow. "Take a look." He took the folded cloth out and unfurled it with a shake. The fine spider-silk floated through the air as the design showed: a silver bear with one forepaw raised prowled the ground while a silver eagle soared overhead.

He looked at me. "What is it?"

I dared to put a hand on his shoulder, moving closer to him. "It's…I thought maybe it was high time we got a new sigil for Crossroads Keep. It's for the Great Hall." Nevalle had informed me when I was knighted that I had to design one—he'd droned about an honorable tradition of the nobility, part of purging the last traces of Luskan from the Keep, reassure the tenants of my tenure, and the like. I'd sighed and just told him to make it a black eagle on green: Mielikki's color, graced by Falyris. The banners had arrived within a tenday and flown ever since.

The morning after our talk in the woods, while Cas was walking with Rhella, I'd rushed back to the Keep, driven by a creative compulsion. By that afternoon I'd had the design ready.

Loremasters had long noted that the type of companion animal often seemed somewhat akin to the person they kept company with. I could see it with Lyris and me, and even with such a short time, Rhella and Cas were a good fit together. Well and so, then, I had thought: mingled Tyrran blue and Mielikkan green, with my eagle and his bear in the silver our faiths shared as a color. Both of us, therefore, shown in partnership for this stronghold.

Every spare moment I had out of his sight and away from Marrin's needs the past five days I'd been working on it. Now I silently blessed Retta Starling for her lessons in needlework when I was a kid, and that I actually enjoyed the art to some extent. Still, it had been such a flurry of furious energy, almost a mad compulsion that I had barely thought about the thing I was working on, or how he might receive it. I'd pricked my fingers more than a few times, swearing as I stuck the finger in my mouth and frantically making sure I hadn't bled on the fabric.

But it all made sense now. Between the saber and the banner, they represented the gift that was genuinely what I meant for him to have: my true self, my dedication to a true marriage. The sword for my past, for Rashemen and for all we had endured in the Shadow War, and the promise that I wouldn't dwell too long in it, nor hide it from him. The banner was for the future we would share, my solemn promise sewn up in silk—from now on, we would be as equals as lord and lady, aye, but moreover, as a husband and wife.

I felt his broad shoulders suddenly tense beneath my hand, even through the thick black wool of his jerkin. His grip tightened on the delicate fabric, crumpling it at the edges, and he let out a slow breath. He still didn't say a word. A dart of panic hit me. "Never mind, it's awful high-handed of me," I rushed to fix what I might have done wrong. "It was only an idea, that one. We can make another, you and me together…"

I got my answer then, but not with any kind of words. He calmly leaned over to lay the sword and banner on the table beside our bed. My heart sank a bit to see my gifts put aside. Then, fox-quick, he turned back and kissed me. Not a graceful thing either; it caught me by surprise and we almost butted heads as he moved in. _Oh_, I thought, a silly little grin threatening to break on my lips as his suddenly-empty hands rose to cup my face, _he wanted his hands free…logical as ever_. That apparently ceaseless reasoning, I acknowledged, drove me to both admiration and frustration, but it was just…_him_, as much a part of his being as the blue of his eyes. It filled me with a sense of bemusement and wonder to see that I had come to accept it. If he was never going to be a man driven by impulse, at least I knew that there were fires in him to be roused. And that, maybe, he wasn't busy trying to beat them out as a pesky inconvenience any more. That was enough.

And Sune, as I answered him gratefully, I felt the change in him, a subtle shift. Whatever Tyr had said to him, it carried over here also. He'd always been a good lover, generous and sweet, from the first. I didn't need any other men to know that. But too many times I'd held him and felt a nameless sorrow in the aftermath of the pleasure: a sense that that some bit of him was kept aside, always safely out of my reach. He'd never been willing to acknowledge fully a man's passions; that mortality with all its joy and heartbreak and ridiculousness was his by right. He'd always fixed his eyes on the heavens, a man striving to act akin to a celestial and fair near to weeping at his frequent and inevitable failure.

Now it felt like a veil between him and the world had been drawn aside, that for the first time he was here with me—overlooking nothing, withholding nothing, regretting nothing.

Much as it plucked at my nerves to open myself to him, I tried to give as generously as he had in my own kiss. I also had been guilty of jealously guarding my innermost self, keeping something aloof and untouchable. Funny to think how two people could get along by all accounts, think they had it pretty well figured out in love; and then have it hit them in the face with a shock one day that it was all wrong.

It wasn't as forceful a kiss as some we'd shared. But there was the quick and violent heat of throwing oil on a flame, and then there was the heat of something banked up slower but burning far more intense and longer. Maybe the measure of desire wasn't in how close you came to cracking teeth from sheer force and gasping for air. About all I knew was that in those moments, both loving and loved, we finally felt the full measure of passion in both of us, unchecked and freely offered.

It made me want to draw back in terror and break away before we did something reckless. I wanted to spend the rest of the day just so in his arms. I wanted to press him flat on his back—or maybe have his weight pressing me into the mattress. It suddenly didn't seem to matter either way, but oh gods, yes, I _wanted_…desperately. I tried to not think about the sensation against my face of the neatly trimmed beard and mustache I'd convinced him to keep after Rashemen, a pleasant, very masculine tickling rasp. And nine hells, that just inevitably led to the thought of how that felt against other parts of my skin. Maybe I needed to go take another cold dip in the river in a real hurry.

I'd sworn grimly that the next time we made love it would be solely by his choice. No matter how much I wanted him, I wouldn't push it. I'd forfeited that right for a while with how I'd tainted our bedroom lately. But it was so damn difficult to hold to that promise right now, severe provocation running up against the will to keep patience. The throttled desire was enough, for the moment, to chase off the nervousness from surrendering myself to him in that kiss.

He broke away from me, smiled broadly. "It's perfect," he said, blue eyes alight. "Don't change a thing." His hand moved slightly so his thumb caressed my lips. I leaned into him, pleased that at least I'd apparently given him a good birthday. Gods knew the few he had spent with me thus far had been absolute crap, and I had the feeling the ones before that hadn't been much to rejoice in either.

The words slipped out before I could help myself. "Will you have me?" Embarrassed suddenly, I raised my eyes to meet his, startled and appalled, but oddly pleased nonetheless, at my boldness. "Never mind my asking," I blurted, "I'll wait 'til…"

Now when he moved his hand, it was to cover my entire mouth, so the end of my apology was muffled into his weapon-callused palm. He leaned closer again, until we were only inches apart, his eyes looking directly into mine. "Lianna," he said, dropping his hand finally, "I do appreciate what you're doing, but to be honest, you're carrying demure and apologetic a little too far. No matter what happened, you've made amends. Stop feeling unworthy of me."

I stared at him, incredulous. All right, he was probably on to something here. But how could he hope to understand how soiled and sorrowful I felt after all I'd done…the thought struck me and I couldn't help a low chuckle. "Bit of irony, Casavir, to be chiding me for that, hey?"

He smiled again, a touch ruefully. "Truth indeed." He was honest enough, aside from paladin compulsion, to admit that he well remembered the time he'd spent trying to heave me up on a pedestal so he could safely admire and worship me rather than just love me.

I reached for him, threading my fingers through his tousled black hair—I thought a few more scattered threads of silver were in it, though I didn't mind them. I had the sense he was the sort of man who'd age gracefully and handsomely. Those were probably another legacy of his encounter with Tyr. He'd tried to explain it to me, and I didn't get the feeling that he was withholding out of reluctance, but some things he just couldn't phrase. Maybe there were no words. Maybe none were needed, because I thought I knew anyhow what Tyr had shown towards him: utter grace and just pride and an almost unbearable love.

_Just love him_. Could it really be that easy? But that could be no harder than living through the awkward, silent battle of wills that had existed between us before. I couldn't demand and expect him to obey. But asking was all right, I thought. He was free to turn me down, and I wouldn't take it hard or punish him for it. "Will you have me?" I asked again, trying to hide the tremor in my voice: fear that he might reject me, fear that he might actually accept. Even scattered as opportunity had been, we'd slept together at least half a hundred times. But this time would be different, as that kiss had been. So far ardor was beating out alarm. I couldn't speak for five minutes from now, though.

He breathed deeply, looking thoughtfully towards the ceiling. I could almost sense the cogs at work in his mind. He actually looked really far too chipper for what could be a turning point between us. He raised a finger, his singular, whimsical smile playing about his lips. My heart skipped a beat at it. "I think you owe me about a tendays' worth of my getting to touch you, since you denied me the chance before."

My jaw practically dropped. Sure, I'd pretty much told him to keep his hands off me—I had only been interested in that one bit of his anatomy, unfortunately. Maybe it was a mark of how much he'd changed that he'd dare to bring it up at all, let alone as inspiration for a bit of love-play. Still; he was right. If he wanted to claim that, it was only fair. Half of me was practically squirming with arousal at the thought of that much dedicated attention from him. The other half was practically squirming with discomfort at the idea of giving over so much control to him.

_Wake up, Erelissohn. This is where you sank in the bog before, getting too greedy with who held the power_. Better this way, maybe, to just see how far I could go rather than hang back in fear? I was no coward, at least. I nodded in agreement, still barely able to raise my voice above a whisper. In that moment, my husband scared me more than Black Garius, more than Myrkul, more than anything. But if this got to be too much and I called a halt, he'd listen. I _knew_ he would. "All right."

Now it was his turn to look shocked, unconsciously giving me a rather ridiculous, nervous smile. I looked at him, and it dawned on me that he had really just been trying to make a joke. He hadn't thought I'd take him at his word. But…well, he was a paladin who I knew I'd get truth from; plus he was usually a little too solemn for his years, and his humor was the sort that was wry and full of a sharp wit. I didn't expect playful banter of this sort from him.

The words came to the tip of my tongue to wave it off. Wasn't his fault I'd mistaken him. Then an impish whim—almost two years of Neeshka's bad influence finally springing forth, had to be—made me stop. I could let him off the hook which would just make the whole thing awkward, and he'd probably be reluctant to try it again. It would be like before. Or…well, I could just pretend I hadn't seen his look and give him that gentle nudge of encouragement, see what he'd do with this. Then we might find out how far things could comfortably go in a new direction, and that would be progress.

_Fortune favors the bold. Maybe love does also._ So I gave him my best coy smile—lousy, I knew, as I was more made for earnest grins. Never would have the courtesan skills of artfully posing, sighing breathily, or waving my tits around without seeming as though I was either. But even if had he laughed I knew I'd love him anyhow. "Ten days' worth? You think you can handle that, dear?" Deliberately I made it a challenge of sorts. I knew how he worked.

Somehow I wasn't surprised that he took it up. Casavir Erelissohn, for all his agreeable words and polite self-effacement, was as stubborn as a field of boulders. No wonder he'd survived so long in the wilderness, and no wonder we got along so well. He just smiled back, almost nonchalant, but I saw the gleam of a man enjoying the game in his eyes. "Can _you_?"

Now I really did laugh, but not at him, more just a sound of relief and thrill, and yeah, the anticipation of a very fine afternoon. Next move, mine…I had mostly undone the lacings of my bodice before I stopped and looked at him. Where I got the nerve from, I didn't exactly know. But somehow I was all right with the shift of things between us, almost giddy at the thought of testing the waters out rather than afraid as I would have been. "Yours?" I asked almost politely, gesturing to my clothes, inviting him to handle it.

He smiled back, deliberately taking me literally. "No, looks better on you, I think." I stared at him, about ready to just start in a fit of helpless laughter. _Gods, who __are__ you and what did you do with the somber fella?_ Maybe he was reveling in the freedom of a new start as much as I was; the sense that anything was possible. Still, he moved towards me, making quick work of the bodice. He put his hands on my hips, and I felt the warmth of his palms through the linen of my shirt as the skirt dropped to the carpet, the drawstring easily undone.

His hands moved upwards, taking the linen with them, and I murmured, "And aren't you're an efficient chamberlain today?"

"Always glad to be of service," he teased back, pausing with my shirt bunched in one hand just below my breasts and lightly stroking the bare skin there. I leaned into it, letting out a squeak as he deliberately hit a ticklish spot.

He taunted me with that for a while. Although he got rid of my shirt, all he did was trace patterns on my midriff and back with the lightest of touches until I had no idea if he was writing sacred runes, obscene limericks, legal proceedings, or the whole Faerûnian Cycle. I didn't much care either, since about all that seemed to matter was when he'd put his hands where I was aching to be touched, that the pleasure would get beyond the mere embers he was keeping it at, and _soon_.

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him again, my arms circling around his neck. He must have sensed my frustration, because he gave in, sliding his hands around my back to undo the tie of my breastband, tugging it free. I pressed myself against him, let out a whimper at the feel of the soft wool of his tunic against my bare skin. Delicious sensation all right, but I wanted more, and I groped blindly to try and undo the buckle of his belt, wishing he'd get his own clothes off in a hurry.

He caught my wrists, holding my hands away from him gently but sure enough to make his point. "Not even one day's worth done," he said mildly, "and you're ready to go back on our agreement already?" He was right, and this time the sound I made was of frustration.

He kissed my brow, strangely chaste, smoothed his hand over my unbound hair. As we stood together on the carpet before the fireplace, caught in the Marpenoth sunlight through the window, he seemed lost in indecision. I knew that for all the teasing we'd exchanged, all the agreeable banter, this was a delicate kind of moment. Either one of us with the wrong word, the wrong move, could shatter it. I barely dared to move. He recovered quickly enough, casually discarding my undertrews and then lifting me into his arms, laying me down carefully on our bed.

I still wore the marks of my past all over my body. There were the strange silvery ghost-lines on breasts and belly from bearing Marrin and the bit of extra padding on my already ample curves that I couldn't seem to shed. There were tattoos, the leaf-and-star on my wrists, and the evenstar between my shoulder blades given to me by the _hathran_ in Mulsantir when I presented myself as the Woodswalker's champion. There were the muscles from hours of toil and training with weapons and tools that even the more idle life since peace couldn't erase. And always, there were the scars, almost beyond number. Most were small, but some weren't. The ugly shard scar on my chest, the pucker on my right flank from when Lorne had almost killed me and Casavir had healed me, the line in my right palm from the blood oath to death and beyond Casavir and I had sworn in a desperate frenzy that final night on the wall…and there were others.

The women I'd shared a Rashemi bathhouse with had murmured incredulously that they'd seen ancient berserkers with fewer wounds. I'd scrambled for a towel, ashamed at their critical eyes and sick to my stomach—wasn't just pregnancy nausea, unfortunately—that I didn't know how I'd gotten any of them. But today I looked up at him leaning over me, lifted my chin and put my hands behind my head on the pillow in almost defiant repose, leaving myself bare to his eyes in the unforgiving sunlight. Much of my life was written on my skin, victory and sorrow both, and I was done hiding from it.

He sat down beside me. "Terms?" he said coolly, his face impassive, but I could see the humor in his light blue eyes. At my quizzically raised eyebrows, he explained, allowing a small smile, "It's only just that we determine what's owed before we…ah…proceed."

"Oh, hadn't we already started? Didn't think I ended up bare as my birthday here just for a lark."

He rolled his eyes in answer at that, attempting to keep going in feigned seriousness. "Ten days, but what constitutes a day's worth?"

I admitted to myself I was actually sort of enjoying the banter. "In the most favorable situation, or what we usually get in reality?"

"Oh, optimally, of course. You always did think I was too much of an idealist for my own good." He deadpanned, "Besides, we should never let it be said that I didn't always serve you to the best of my abilities." And there it was again, the challenge laid down. Ten days' worth—and he was going to make sure to stretch them to the utmost. If I didn't die from it, I might want to kill him out of frustration.

"Ha!" I couldn't help it; I laughed deeply at that. "In that case? One day's worth is when I'm all bothered up and fretful to the point of yanking buttons and tearing seams to get your clothes off." Right back to him; see how he responded to my daring him to do his best to drive me wild.

He smiled charmingly, looking unfazed. Gods, I always envied him that ability. "Not allowed, Lianna. You have ten days to get through before you get to do that." He looked thoughtful, and the sweet smile melted into a mischievous grin. "In fact," he eyed my hands, still tucked behind my head in my defiantly casual pose, "why don't you just keep your hands right there?" Stubborn, all right, and he'd touched the stakes up another notch with that. "Wouldn't want you to be tempted to forfeit on our bargain," he added oh-so-helpfully.

Well, I wasn't going to be the one to call a halt here. Not for that; it was a little unnerving, that kind of surrender, but strangely, it seemed to have a wicked appeal too. So long as gods, please, he didn't actually suggest binding my hands there…I managed to shake off that spark of terror. Looking straight at him, I stretched languidly, hands fully over my head to brush against the spindles of the headboard. I knew damn well that move put me on excellent display. See him ignore _that_—ha, he was definitely looking, and I got a certain rush from knowing what effect it had on him.

My smile lasted about as long as it took for him to put his hands on me. Urging him along had been a very bad idea, or maybe a very good one—the man knew well enough how to touch me. He kissed me along my neck and throat, the line of my jaw, while his hands moved to cup my breasts, thumbs stroking across my nipples; how long since I had let him do this? Gods, it felt good, the tingling sensation rising...I squirmed under his hands as I remembered suddenly _why _I had avoided this. "Cas?" I said urgently.

Something in my tone made him stop and look at me, and I felt my face flaming in embarrassment, the ache now full in my breasts. Instincts right now, unfortunately, didn't know the difference between my husband touching me and my baby trying to nurse, as we'd found out before. I wasn't quite up for anything of that; my mind had been well confused enough of late as to what Casavir meant to me without my body going there as well.

He took the hint, slid one hand down my belly, veering off at the crest of my hip, tracing down the line of my leg. Pausing, he left his hand on my inner thigh, resting it casually there. I was a split-second from glowering at him—now he really was just taunting me. Then the thought came to me. I'd agreed to let him touch me, even agreed to keep my hands off of him, but he hadn't said anything about…just a little bump up of my hips to catch his attention, and I grinned at him. "Lost already? You know, men never ask for directions."

He laughed in answer, knowing full well he'd been called out on the attempt to just meddle with me by the delay. "Directions? Well, you're the ranger," he acknowledged with a slight nod, "so…"

"North by northeast, only a little ways…" I couldn't keep back a sigh of pleasure as he followed through. Stroking me just right…no directions needed, except maybe, "A little harder?" Still, not as tentatively gentle as he was wont to be, much as I'd always tried to tell him I was no frail little thing made of glass.

I was almost disappointed when he took his hand from me, but he kissed me again, lingering and deep. My hips and thighs were drawn up tense from growing excitement, and I tried to relax again, although kissing him back made that more than a little difficult. Also made keeping my hands up hard; the impulse to draw him down to me was almost irresistible. Gods, _everything _seemed to be enjoyable sensation right now—the fabric of his clothes against my skin, the soft bristle of his beard against my cheek, the faint cool autumn breeze from the half-opened window. Maybe it had been far too long since I'd just let myself be, able to open myself to such things.

He touched my scars then, kissed them as well—all of the ones of my front, at least, from the small one just below my hairline I'd gotten when Webb Mossfeld had chucked a rock at me when we were kids, to the nasty burn from a camping trip with Daeghun on my right shin. So many Casavir had healed himself, I couldn't help but remember, and his hands moved over them as though his fingers remembered as well. I gave a few directions again, to some he'd overlooked, and it was a sort of healing balm to not be ashamed of them any longer.

He saved the shard scar as the final one, and this time, I didn't push him away, though I still felt nothing right there. But my heart underneath could feel enough to make up for it.

I was wrong—last of all he traced the soft-edged marks from carrying Marrin, almost faded from purple to silver as scars did. The corner of his mouth lifted, and he remarked, "Honorably won as well."

"Damn straight," I returned. "You thought the King of Shadows was bad? That little girl put me in the worst fucking pain for _nineteen hours_."

"This wouldn't be the best time to suggest having another, then?" he asked innocently, though the stir of his breath warm against my belly was making it hard to concentrate. I saw his half-hidden smile, though, and knew he was only joking.

"So eager to get to the fun?" I teased back. We both knew full well I was back on the herbs. "Then you're ready to call it off on the rest of those—_gods—_" Hardly fair, I decided in a daze, for him to cut me off by gripping my hips and kissing me there. Except I was in no position to complain, really, as I found myself totally unable to think of something coherent to say, grabbing the headboard frantically in an effort to not to reach down to tangle my fingers in his raven-dark hair. I just hoped the spindles were made of good, solid wood.

He was as good as his word, my paladin, determined to serve me well. My body quivered, trembling harder with each stroke until I thought I'd come apart. My head tilted back, my back arched and hips lifted into it in wordless demand. My whole body was tense as a drawn bowstring, its only purpose to finally be released…_there_.

"You," I finally managed, sagging back against the pillows and breathing as though I'd just run a few miles, "are entirely unfair."

He laughed, and I almost wanted to kill him even as the sensation of it against exquisitely sensitive flesh was just about killing me. He raised his head, answering my accusation with a very droll, "It's unfair, to be sure…but it's not unjust."

Trust him to make the distinction. I stared at him, incredulous, then just shook my head and gave a laugh low in my throat in answer. "Bloody pedantic Tyrrans." I sighed, loosening my death-grip on the headboard spindles—with some rational thought coming back to me, I was absurdly pleased to note that they apparently were oak. "I suppose we can call that day one repaid?" I said hopefully as he sat up.

"Done and done," he agreed. Closing my eyes, I groaned at the thought that I had nine days to repay; whether in agony or anticipation, I wasn't sure. I heard the faint creak of the bed and felt him getting up, and I wondered what in the hells he had planned next.

I lay there, hearing the pounding of my heart fading from my ears, and it sounded like he'd kicked his boots off. I dared to open my eyes for a peek. If he was going for shackles or ropes or straps, we were going to have to discuss terms a bit more, I decided firmly. After being strapped down during my nightmarish operation in Rashemen, said discussion would be something along the lines of "Over my dead body".

Instead, I saw him standing by the side of the bed, calmly undoing the lacing at the neck of his shirt, already having dealt with his jerkin. "What are you up to?" It came out sharper than I'd intended, but to let me feel his skin against mine and not be able to reach for him would be an ordeal. Gods, did he have a secret Loviatorian streak, to cause me that kind of suffering?

He gave a half-shrug of his shoulders then idly tugged his shirt over his head. "I said you owed me ten days." His amusement was obvious in his voice, along with the gentleness. "You still owe me nine—for later. I never specified they all had to be paid off before we could lie together, did I?"

I could have collapsed in relief at that. I admitted I enjoyed the show as he finished undressing; he always made for a fine sight in anything, including nothing at all. The fact that he didn't draw out the process to meddle with me further made me think he was as ready as me—and, well, once he ditched his undertrews, pretty obvious that he was.

He stood there a moment, and all he wore were his paladin's ring and the bear amulet at his throat. Still, he seemed anything but holy just then—exposed to my gaze and with desire darkening his own eyes to the blue of the hidden depths of the sea, fathomless and mysterious. He was only himself, a well-made man, a creature that was beautiful and strong and unashamedly male.

I had given him some power and my trust earlier, to have him touch me so frankly and restrain myself from doing likewise to him, and he didn't have to say that he had surrendered it back. I felt the shift between us clear enough, the balance tipped so that we stood equal to each other. Finally could I let my hands down from over my head, and I reached one out to him. "Come here?" I murmured; not an order, not an obligation, just an invitation.

Two steps to the bed, and he caught me up in his arms instead, kissing me eagerly. I pulled him down to me, giving a laugh of unashamed delight as I put my own hands on him, almost feverish with the need to touch him. I knew his body so well, the long, lean lines of him, his own significant set of scars, but somehow each caress felt almost as though I was discovering it anew.

"Talk to me," I urged him, turning my face into the crook of his neck and nuzzling it.

"About what?" He murmured in my ear and I shuddered at it.

"Doesn't matter. Anything you like. Just…want to hear you."

A tenday ago, I would never have admitted that I needed the simple sound of his voice, that its deep resonance and rich tones, let alone the affection coloring his words, were as keen a pleasure as any his hands and lips wrought on me. A tenday ago, I had been a gods-damned fool.

I couldn't say how much time passed that we spent learning each other again. A long while, probably—touching, talking, encouraging. At the end of it, we each gave and gained what we both wanted; my arms tight around his neck and my thighs tight around his hips, his cock deep inside me, our bodies pressed tight enough together to feel the other's heartbeat, and my hazel and his blue eyes steady and sure on each others'.

I arched tight against him, and was certain his name was on my lips at that moment. He followed soon enough, and I held him as he shuddered and said my name in an answering low groan. Pleasure for both of us, aye, but good as that was, I knew better enough now that it wasn't the best of it.

Afterwards, we lay together, not saying much of anything. There didn't really seem to be a need. Still, I found myself reaching out, my fingers brushing lightly over the back of his hand. A tiny point of contact considering what we'd just shared, but it served. He put an arm around me, gathered me close to him. I found I was smiling as I closed my eyes, pillowing my head on his shoulder. This, I thought, was true intimacy—these quiet moments afterwards when I was breathing in the scent of him, and of sweat and sex and the faintly sweet smell of the milk that I didn't care had let down when my pleasure came, feeling the rhythm of his heart under the hand I rested on his chest and playing idly with the curling dark hairs there…and feeling safe, loved, cherished. This was the best of it.

I thought from his stillness that he'd gone to sleep. So I wasn't really listening. The words were little more than a soft sigh, a faint breath stirring against my hair, but I still heard. "Marry me."

I turned over, managed to prop myself on an elbow, saw him looking steadily back at me. "Marry you?" I smiled. "We're there already, and don't you forget."

His cheeks creased in an answering smile. "I don't. But remember that I promised you a proper wedding that day."

I remembered vaguely, sure. It bothered him enough that I'd agreed to it. Well, the fact had been that I'd hardly expected that the hypothetical someday would ever come, and besides, I would have said about anything right then to just finally have him in my arms. "Cas, really, it's no bother. I don't need that to feel like we're wed."

"I promised," he insisted. "And you know I have to keep any vow I take," I heard the self-deprecating humor in that. He cleared his throat. "Be a good chance to make sure it's all done right this time, aye?"

Now I understood. He meant to keep his word, sure enough. I might be more or less content to just be wed in the village way, but his honor, and that peculiarly charming streak of romanticism I was finally coming to see in him, wouldn't stand for it. And he was right. It would be a good way to make certain this time around we didn't do things too hasty and half-assed.

Village weddings were usually meant to last only until a priest came around on circuit to do the thing up proper, or until two foolish young things thought better of it and went their separate ways. If no act one way or another was taken, after a few years the bond was often considered quietly untied. As we were now, I could still leave without troubles and petitions to the courts and the temples.

It was more than sentimentality coming to the fore, then, this proposal. Although to be honest, his timing made me think he had hadn't thought this out beforehand. The man I'd known before wouldn't have settled for anything less than a fully planned assault of flowers, music, candlelight, and dinner before proposing marriage—and to be honest, the whole ceremony of it would alarm more than charm me, and he'd be so stiffly formal and secretly terrified. To hear it here and now, though, in the aftermath of our lovemaking…it was just his honest feelings. He trusted me enough to lay them out for me, simple and unadorned.

The question was asked, then. Both the one he had said to me; and the one that lay silent in his eyes: _Do we mean for this to last? _I could dither a bit and tell him I'd think about it. But what was there to consider, really? If I trusted him, I'd be willing to formally swear myself to him.

Looking at him, seeing the spark of worry coming over the calm of his features, I was seized by what seemed like an almost overwhelming wave of love. I settled back down against him with a pleased sigh. "Aye, I'll marry you. Tells you I love you, Cas Erelissohn, that I'm willing to go through all that pomp just to wed you."

He laughed, and I heard the relief in it. "Most women seem to think about their wedding a little more joyfully."

"Give me time and I'll get used to it," I allowed, grinning. "When, d'you think?"

"Greengrass, perhaps?" Romantic streak a mile wide, all right—of course he'd want to wed two years to the day after we'd taken our vows under the linden. Gods knew if we hadn't been parted this last Greengrass he'd have probably been suggesting that as a date. "Six months should give you enough time to steel yourself to the idea," he teased.

"All right." I thought about it a minute. "Well, we missed the harvest festival I wanted to give them. Maybe we ought to invite all the folk of the lands here for this." That was my offering, at least, to help erase this Highharvesttide. Harvest-time had been a miserable nightmare for the last several years; pleasant symmetry to try and make up for some of that come the next planting festival.

He murmured agreeably, and we spent the next hour or so doing anything but talking. Finally, reluctantly, the time came to turn our attention from being wrapped up in each other to other matters. Marrin needed us, first off, before the dinner I had planned with the kitchen staff's help for Cas' birthday. It had turned out to be far better than I had hoped for today, for the both of us.

"I'm surprised," I confessed, putting on my bodice, "that we got enough time alone. We could barely get our shirts off back in the day without someone coming pounding at the door."

He smiled a bit sheepishly, blue eyes alight with mirth. "I have to confess, I asked Kana to see to it." I stared at him, incredulous. The man I'd known—gods, that was becoming a refrain. Not that he was metamorphosed into something entirely new, but the subtle changes in his general attitude and outlook were enough.

We left our room, and he slipped his arm around my waist for a moment, pulling me close for one last kiss. I heard a faint quizzical growl, and Rhella padded into view from the hallway. She eyed us and remarked nonchalantly, "In den, and still light out, so not sleeping. Mating was good?"

"Yes," Casavir said quite cheerfully, and I looked up at him, a little startled. I caught that he was blushing slightly; well, not everything had changed. But he hadn't sputtered and told her it was an improper question, embarrassing the both of them. Between that and what had just passed between us, I thought that maybe in finding some comfort in his own skin he'd found more ease in dealing with the world around him as well. "It was."

I still couldn't suppress a snort of amusement, trying desperately to hold back the giggles. He actually sounded fairly pleased with himself, like a stallion whinnying in triumph after mating his mare. Some women might have been offended. But for me as a ranger, I'd long sighed over how he suppressed so much of what was natural—he stuffed away the good and harmless parts of just being a creature of the earth, along with the baser instincts we as humans had the brains and duty to overcome. So to see him actually showing off some male pride rather than frantically stifling it was pretty amusing….and, all right, maybe a bit arousing. At least I knew I'd never need to worry that he'd take it too far and become a brute.

The man I had known had been a good man. But the man he was now was more than I had ever dared hope for.


	16. It Happened One Night

_**Casavir**_

_Marpenoth 26, 1386_

Magic and alchemy, as I well knew from growing up virtually within shouting distance of the powerful mages of the Cloaktower, were an immediate solution to many problems. An invasion of grumkins in your root cellar, an ancient curse that inconveniently made your entrails become your extrails, thinning hair, demonic possession, evil rings of unthinkable megalomaniac power, a drought, an embarrassing infection caught at a festhall, fretful infants—there was almost always a spell, trinket, or potion that could set you right as rain.

Marriage, however, was just plain exempt from that rule of thumb. Love was something that no white mage would touch—black magic was something else entirely, as in any other case. Of course the guilds let the hedge wizards with just a dollop of power craft love charms and potions for heartsick lads and lasses, well knowing that about all those could accomplish was to make the object of affection maybe take a second glance. So I had asked Oleff about it when I was fourteen and first starting to ponder girls in a new light. That resulted in the two of us discussing free will, slavery, and conscious choice until evensong. Trust a pair of Tyrrans to turn a question into a massive debate.

In the end, there was no artificial magic that could establish love between two people, and none that could sustain or repair it. Effort was the only thing that could do that, and time.

Of course things between Lianna and I hadn't just turned into resting on a bed of Cormyrian lilies. It had been only a little over a tenday that we'd been patching things up, after all. Still, in that time, I thought we'd grown closer together than perhaps any time since the day we finally said that we loved each other. I'd managed to forgive her for her impulsiveness that day, at least, since I finally had admitted to myself that I'd had a little resentment about her aggressive insistence on sleeping together right then and there. But at least I admitted it was my fault as well for giving in without speaking honestly about my reservations.

So, we'd made excellent progress. And every time I recalled my birthday I knew that I started smiling to myself. There were times that still felt awkward and almost painful, times when I felt the spark of irritation or saw the flash of temper on her face. Compared to the contentment, though, of being with a true companion for the rest of my life, those were mere tiny bumps in the path, easily moved past. And of late, I found myself seeking her out more and more, drawn to be near her and share even the simplest moments together. The people of the keep were probably chuckling over us as a pair of lovesick fools, but no matter.

After my prayers, I found her already in the training yard this morning, her motions dancing over the hard-packed dirt, blocking, striking, feinting, whirling now to face a new opponent. As I 

leaned on the fence and watched her, the lithe motions of her body a pleasure to see, I finally identified the weapon she was holding—good gods, was that a _lady's fan_? Then as a final motion, she flicked her wrist neatly, shutting the fan, and gave a forceful jab to about the level of a man's throat.

I cleared my throat. "I'm not certain that shade of blue goes with your jerkin?"

She turned and grinned like a child caught filching a pie from the windowsill, and came over to me, giving a smart rap on my hand with the fan. "Fie on you, sir," she said with an appallingly overdramatized imitation of a Neverwinterian lady's accent. It caught me by surprise to feel the solid weight of it, and as I looked down, I saw that the tips of the steel ribs were sharpened to a wicked point. "Jacoby made it, and Kana's been teaching me," she said quite cheerfully, thrusting the fan through her belt. "I know I can't carry a sword at court, but apparently ladies in Kara-Tur use steel fans as a weapon. Unexpected, eh?"

The warrior in me certainly thought well of it, I would readily confess. The husband in me was more than a little amused and admiring, as ever, at her fierceness. Still, there was something else to be said about it, and gently as I could. "Are you," I searched carefully for how to phrase this, "quite certain that you need to carry a weapon to a _court function_, my love? They can be a vicious pack of jackals, but they're not physically violent." I smiled a little sheepishly. "Not right there, anyhow. That's why they have the duel."

She hesitated and tucked a loose lock of hair back behind her ear. "It makes me feel better," she finally admitted in a low voice. "You know how many times we thought we were safe and…" I sighed, knowing she was right. She bit her lip, leaned closer, touching my wrist. "And even if I've got to wear a dress and a gods-awful hairstyle and bow down till I scrape my nose raw on the floor, see, at least I can still feel a little like myself."

We climbed up to sit on the fence, and I put a hand on her shoulder. "You don't need to involve yourself with the full extent of the finery if it makes you uncomfortable." I was a little surprised to hear her finally considering our obligation to go to court next month. She'd shoved that into the corner decisively and never addressed it, because I well knew her lack of enthusiasm on the subject.

"Yes I do," she said fiercely, brows drawn down in a scowl. "Someone wants to run with a dog pack, best they get straight the difference between where the group's sleepin' and shittin'—_sleeping _and oh, hells—" she started to correct her farmer's twang, and trailed off as she realized "shitting" probably wasn't considered proper talk. "They need to act like the rest," she finished lamely. "I walk in there anything short of being tricked out like the rest of those silly geese, they start treating me like I'm still the country hick who's no better than to do the dirty work of their City Watch."

I couldn't say much in opposition to that. Aribeth had started taking me to court functions when I was nine and she'd deemed my courtesies polished enough. I'd been dragged to them until the Wailing Death fell over the city. Even afterwards, when I had my knighthood, it seemed like the chapterhouse masters were always keen to my lame excuses to avoid attending and were pressing me to go. So I was too well familiar with the etiquette and ways of Neverwinter's court.

"You're right," I admitted, giving the honesty I owed her. "And it won't be easy. They'll be merciless. They'll gossip about you—and me—behind our backs and even to our faces. But if you remember anything, let it be this. You give Nasher respect as your liege. But by the gods, _you bow to no one._" I let the words sink in for a moment. "You helped save them all, did a thing they found impossible. They fear that, and so they'll mock you to make you forget your worth. Don't let it happen."

She turned her head upwards to look at the clear autumn skies. "Wise words."

"The words are mine, but the idea is from Sir Jeskar Siarune." He was Torm's paladin—and a hero of Neverwinter. I had fought with him on the barricades during the siege of the city. And I had admired him greatly, a young man only five years my senior but still everything it seemed a paladin should be. "He knew how my feelings were mixed over having fought Aribeth, about how her fate cast a shadow over my paladinhood when she had been the one who trained me. And on the day of my knighting, he told me something like that."

"I wish I could meet him. We'd have tales to tell over some ale."

"You may. I heard while we were in the city that he returned while we were in Rashemen." I gave her an apologetic smile. "Fact is—you'll probably see him at court."

"Cas," she groaned, "trust you to bring it back to that." She was silent for a long moment. "We've got about two and a half tendays before the worst of it. I've put it off long enough—time to just bite the stick and get it done. Suppose we'd best be talking to a tailor in the city. Pay 'em enough and they'll do a rush job."

"Won't need to," I said dryly. "Tailors are cutthroat. They'd all shank each other in the alley with a dull spoon for the honor of providing garb for the court debut of Lady Lianna Erelissohn. I've got a good couple from back in the day that should suit." Sallonar and Faressa Threadneedle were rock gnomes and absolute geniuses with clothing—if you could withstand their cheerful prattle. Probably Grobnar's cousins, when I thought about it, although at least they'd never mentioned the infamous Wendersnaven.

"You'll tell me what I need?"

"I'll do my best. You may wish to talk to Faressa directly regarding certain items though."

"Sorry?" She gave me a quizzical glance, one brow delicately arched in a look that would have done a court lady credit.

"Lianna, I'm not exactly familiar with a lady's undergarments," I said it plainly, my face suddenly heated.

She crowed with earnest glee, shoulders shaking so much with merriment that she almost toppled backwards. "I'm glad to hear that."

"If my lady would be so gracious as to permit me to assist, I would be pleased to be your humble servant in the matter of familiarizing myself with the entirety of your garb after the engagement," I teased her. "You have said, after all, that I may grace you as your chamberlain at any time. I am, as ever, at your service." Gods, it startled me—the airs and cadences of court pleasantries came back so easily to my tongue. Like slipping on a familiar, if somewhat overly ornate, tunic that had long been packed away; there had been no need for such formal puffery amidst the dirt and blood of battle.

"Ooh, sounds promising." She gave me a delighted grin, nudging me in the shoulder. She cleared her throat and gave me a small, polite smile. "That is to say, it would be my pleasure," she mimicked, "if…my lord would be so good. I do so appreciate the attentiveness you show to…to my well-being in all matters, no matter how humble. Your graciousness is truly the mark of a gentleman."

"Perfect," I assured her at her questioning look.

"And I'm sure those skirts and all will be a bitch," she concluded, dropping the pretense abruptly, "so I may need some help. So we've got a couple of days before we leave for Merdalaine, and then some time in the city after. You'll tell me what phrases and forks I ought to use, I'm sure."

The thought occurred to me. "Can you dance? There's inevitably going to be some sort of ball."

She scoffed comfortably. "'Course I can dance. It may have been a Harvest _Brawl_, but we had dancing half the night besides."

"Pavane?" I offered hopefully. "Cormyrian waltz? Tamper's Ten-Step?" I got a look of mute incomprehension. "What dances do you know?"

"I haven't heard of a one of those," she said defensively. "But we always had Ribbons and Ropes, and Butterfly Wings, and Fox-in-the-Coop…"

"Country dances," I sighed. "Do you know any partner dances?"

She looked almost aghast. "You mean just the two people dancing? None of that. Sunshine and showers was the only one, and that was for the married folk only. It's just not done. Dancing? That's for fun with the village, not making snoogly eyes and trying to get an excuse to grope on the lad or lass you fancy."

_Oh gods_. "Courting couples in the Mere villages never danced?" I asked helplessly. "They do on the Iron Shore." That much I remembered. And the wed ones too…I remembered my mother and father doing the Compass Points at that last Tyntarren gathering, the laurel crown of the victor in the _canwyr_ competition bright in her dark hair, dancing the intricate steps as if with a single mind between them. My father had been twenty-nine when I came along, the last child of five—the same age as I had been for Marrin. He'd gotten a much earlier start in family matters than me, though. He had married my mother at twenty and fathered Dathne by twenty-one. Still, of late when I held Marrin and dreamt of her future, I couldn't help but think of my father likewise at thirty, holding me and pondering my path, never guessing that he wouldn't live to forty, let alone see me grown to manhood.

That was the harder aspect of following Tyr's urging to allow myself to open my soul up to an admission of mortality—the painful parts came back as well as the joys. I found myself thinking so often of my family these days.

"Cas? Are you listening?" Lia squeezed my arm.

I took a deep breath. "Sorry. I was…away for a bit."

"Thinking of your parents." She was far more perceptive to my thoughts and emotions lately, I noticed, although at points I gently told her to stand down a little. Too much consideration could be stifling, even if I knew she was only trying to make amends for not paying attention for so long. As for myself I admitted that I was better with hers now that I let myself look with more than just my paladin senses.

"A little. But you were saying, there aren't partner dances in the Mere?"

"No need to beat around the bush like that to get their hands on each other. Give it a few hours and they might be doing a bit of rump-pump in the barn." She smiled sheepishly, a tinge of pink creeping into her cheeks. "I suppose that qualifies as a _partner dance_ of a fashion…one that we're pretty good at."

I put a hand over my eyes, not sure whether to groan or laugh. "Not precisely the sort they want to see out on Nasher's nice marble floor, though."

"Ah, it's a pity. That'd be a lot more fun. And I wouldn't have to wear the dress besides." She grimaced. "Poor lasses, though. Locked away until they come of age—and you know the noble lads are tupping everything in sight all the while."

"I know," I said grimly. I had seen the young men of Blacklake entering or leaving one of Neverwinter's festhalls often enough when I was out and about.

"I at least _chose _to keep myself waiting for someone worthy. Them? They're forced into it without a choice of their own, and they're expected to go to bed with a man without any kind of sentiment behind it. It's the worst kind of whoring."

I sighed as a thought came to me. "We can…expect that we'll get some marriage offers for Marrin while we're there." The thought of betrothing my daughter, not even four months old yet, appalled me. But that was the way much of the nobility worked—many alliances were sealed while still in childhood.

She gripped my arm with a fierce strength. "I'll dance their tune," she said grimly. "But not in that way. They can fuck themselves if they expect me to sell them _my _daughter to buy my way into their good graces."

"Marrin will marry whomever she wants, when she wishes to," I assured her. "Do you think I would do otherwise?"

"Maybe you'd best refuse any offers yourself. You have much better grace with words. I'd just offend 'em." Well, that was a gracious admission from her. Before, she wouldn't have cared if she offended people in the rush to tell them _exactly _what she thought of them.

I smiled at her. "I'll do my best."

"Still not sure what I think about this whole thing anyhow—I mean, hells, even the ruler is encouraging it. After all, Nasher's bought himself a bride in Marrinda Saxathil."

"Bought?" I said with some amusement.

"You're not going to convince me that theirs is a love match when they're _never even met_," she said with frosty disapproval. "So yes…bought."

"My dear, you don't know much about Ruathym. Yes, this likely was conceived as an alliance of mutual safety against Luskan. But Urrik Bjarlissohn certainly hasn't sold his little sister to Nasher Alagondar. The Ruathymine are ironclad that a woman has to consent to the match."

She snorted. "How very novel."

"Prevents betrothal in the cradle at least," I reminded her gently. "In any case, the shield-maidens principally serve the _gannen_, the Council of Sisters, and they're the real power. Urrik and Rinda's mother, is called Thalenda the Wise. It wouldn't surprise me if Thalenda and Marrinda came up with the idea of the marriage, and proposed it to the council. After they approved it, there's not a damn thing Urrik could say to oppose it."

"How do you _know_ all this?"

"The Ruathymine delegation visited Neverwinter when I was eleven—including the Lady Marrinda, although she was only twenty-two and married to her first husband Karlek then. He was killed a few years later. So yes, she has met Nasher, come to think of it. Aribeth made me read up on Ruathymine history, culture, and the like so I could attend."

"Anything I need to know?"

I shrugged. "It's a land rich in lore and warriors. They make some of the best wool along the whole of the Sword Coast, and beef from their herds is considered a delicacy by many thanks to the grasslands they feed on. But it's a harsh land, and in the past, of course, they were more concerned with roaming and raiding than building." I chuckled. "Some of my own ancestors were Ruathymine. That's why there are a lot of fair haired people on the Iron Shore, why a lot of our surnames end in "sohn", and why we're such excellent sailors while the Uthgardts tend to fear the water. Throw some Tethyrian and Illuskan into the mix to help us settle down to farming and the like, and you've got yourself the clans."

I caught a gleam of mischief in her eye. "Then I may well like this Marrinda. I was afraid, shield-maiden or no, that she'd be some bleating, scared little thing under her brother's thumb. Bad enough in a girl, but in a woman of forty-one…"

"When you're forty-one, I don't think we need to worry about you being under anyone's thumb." I couldn't help making a face as I added, "Least of all your brother's."

She made a quiet "Mmphm," of discontent. "What are we going to do with him, anyhow?"

"Presuming he makes it through his task in Luskan—and I don't see why not, Bishop Rettikar is nothing if not a stubborn ass when it puts his mind to it—I really don't know. I suppose it's more up to you as he offended you more and he's your bro—"

"I think he offended you more," she corrected. "At least, his sneers were always towards you."

"Do you think that's the worst mockery I've ever had?" I asked, trying to phrase it softly as I could, knowing that considering the answer would upset her. "As a paladin, a fisherman's son, a turncoat's apprentice, a Blacklake scandal…I've heard my share of sneers. It gets to the point where, if you're to survive it, the words turn to no more than the whining of flies in your ear."

She sighed, eyes downcast. They her gaze flicked back up to mine. "Not while I'm around," she said defiantly. "If he even _tries _it, I swear I'll knee him in the balls so hard that he'll hobble around the rest of his days. The world probably won't be a sadder place if he can't ever get a child on some poor woman."

"_Lia!_" Still, I found myself suppressing laughter. "Look, one thing at a time. He'll be about done in Luskan now, and I told Bree to meet us in Neverwinter and give a report. We can cross that bridge when we get to it. For now…." I gestured to the fan at her belt, "…perhaps you should practice."

She leaned over and kissed me warmly on the lips for that. Then she hopped down from the fence with little grace and made to resume her training as I headed back for the Keep to find Rhella and progress a little further with her in her newfound relations to the human world. She was another blessing in my life, and one that with each passing day I only enjoyed more. Her views sometimes startled me, but I had to admit, they always made me think about my own opinions and prejudices, and how best to explain the way of things to her. She challenged me in the best ways, but in others, we found ourselves in such accord that it was startling.

In some ways, that was like things with Lia. Days between my wife and I were becoming better and better, as things between us grew only stronger with each one that went by. It was as though the final barriers between us had been removed. I felt it in the evenings especially, when the 

business of the day was done and we spent time with each other. Whether it was telling stories to Marrin, making plans for the Keep, talking of small matters over a bottle of wine, or making love; they all held an intimacy that seemed all the sweeter now for having been delayed in its discovery.

The nights, though…whatever darkness had finally broken loose in Lianna at Highharvesttide from being suppressed so long still lurked in her dreams. She woke in terror some nights, turning instinctively towards me, like a frightened child. It seemed enough for me to hold her until her shuddering breaths slowed and she managed to fall asleep again. Even if she slept, it was often restless, full of tossing and turning and talking. The things she said, when they were loud enough to understand, gripped my heart in ice.

She wept in her sleep, sometimes, and I never told her why she woke with her pillow damp. I thought that some part of her knew. And as I held her and watcher her, my beloved, lost and terrified and beyond my reach in her dreams, I could have wept myself.

I'd turned the thought over in my head dozens of times, trying to think just how to broach the subject. How to appeal to her need for help, while respecting her enough to not fray at the still-fragile bonds growing between us by being too presumptive…gods, it was nerve-wracking.

That night, I decided I'd pondered it enough and to just be as earnest as I could, come hells or high water. At least hopefully she'd respect me for honesty. I waited until she'd finished nursing Marrin. "Lianna?"

She handed me our daughter as she pulled up the neckline of her nightgown to cover herself. Tying the drawstring, she asked absently, "Yes?"

Settling Marrin in my arms as she gave a happy grunt of a full belly, I stated the obvious. "You still have nightmares every night. Even the two of us having worked things out isn't helping at all. I…want to help you. If you'll let me."

She plucked at the end of her shoulder-length braid, rubbing it between her fingers in a nervous gesture. "What do you mean?"

"What you did to me." I winced as I heard how accusatory it sounded when I phrased it, and the faint note of bitterness that still crept into my voice at the subject. I forced myself to calm down and rephrase it. "When you came into my dream, you were able to talk to me there, help influence the situation. If I could do that for you…" _You go where I can't follow, where I can't defend you. And I would slay any demon for you, I would journey into the heart of any nightmare, I would suffer to protect you…__if you would only let me__._

She didn't say anything. I realized the enormity of what I was asking, and tried to explain myself. "If…even if you don't wish me to help you, could you at least teach me? Paladins are healers, after all, and that's a skill of such promise in mind and spirit healing. Those have traditionally been areas that we have little more than prayer to aid us."

She chewed her lower lip in thought. "Can you put Marrin to bed?" she asked quietly.

I nodded and left her there as I headed down the hallway to Marrin's nursery. Rhella lifted her head—she'd begun to spend time in there along with Lyris, both of them dedicated and fascinated nursemaids. Lianna had laughed at that and made a joke about all females having some kind of motherly instincts roused by seeing a baby. "Marrin get as big as you, _ilannak_?" she asked cheerfully.

"Humans odd," Lyris remarked sourly. "Males so big. Eagles, females always bigger."

"Keep your mate in line easy then," Rhella answered. "Bear females just tell male to go away after mating."

"Thank you, ladies," I said with a touch of sarcasm, as I laid Marrin in her cradle and pulled the blanket up over her. "I think Lianna would tell you that I'm perfectly well behaved without her management, no matter what size either of us is. Hells, she can even take me out in public without worry that I'll piss on things to mark territory." As I left, I couldn't resist adding to Rhella, "And with Falyris, that's _another _one who says I'm not little—so there." Her chuff of delighted amusement followed me out.

I went back to our room and found Lianna standing where I had left her, face turned towards the starlit sky out the window. She was still as a statue but for the rise and fall of her chest from breathing. I didn't say anything to alert her, and it was a good fifteen seconds until she turned back towards me.

She looked directly at me, hazel-green eyes not wavering as she took the leather thong from her hair, running her fingers through it inelegantly to free it into its usual loose waves. Then she tugged the drawstring of her gown, undoing the bow, and it sagged open for a split-second before she shrugged her shoulders, letting it fall into a puddle on the floor around her feet.

She stood there, the soft glow of the lamp kissing the curves of her body with light and shadow, gleaming off of her bare skin and unbound hair. I noticed—dear gods, how could any normal male not notice his wife standing naked in front of him? But at the same time, some part of me drew back in dread, remembering all too well where situations like this had led before.

She noticed too, and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly looking very self-conscious. "I know I've got no right to ask," she said, her voice a little rough. "Not after what I put you through. And I could give you some bad explanation about how that kind of intimacy between our bodies and souls will make it easier for us to connect our spirits in the dream world…" She gave a feeble laugh. "I suppose that would _really_ make you wonder about me and Gann, though."

"Might," I managed, feeling vaguely in a daze.

"No, he dumped us both in a sweat lodge to meditate, grow closer to the spirit and less focused on the body. It worked…I feltthe spirits around me." Her right hand drifted down towards her stomach. "It was the first time I really thought about her not as a nuisance that was making me waddle and puke a lot, not as the product of sex I couldn't remember and might not want to. I was almost five months along, and for the first time, I felt _her_." She took in a deep, shuddering breath. "Truth is that I can't just sit down and _do_ this. It's too much. And if you and I could…well, that would help me. I suppose I could hit the icewhiskey to relax, though."

"Would that help?"

"I wouldn't be scared out of my mind, and sure enough, I wouldn't be as grounded in reality. But it'd be harder to focus on the dreamwalking," she admitted, still hugging herself.

"Ah." I sighed, ran a hand fretfully through my hair. In truth, the idea frightened _me_ more than a little. I'd forgiven her, but this cut too close to the bone for reassurance. The thought that in the middle of it that I might remember the wrenching feeling of being used, of being just a _thing_, a tool to her…still…perhaps I ought to confront it, before I grew too set in my aversion. Having the thought that for the rest of our marriage that I might never be able to give or receive sex meant as a relief against hurt wasn't pleasant. Intimacy couldn't always be only meant for the happier times.

"I…understand if you can't. I'll still try to teach you anyway."

The moment of decision came, and a sudden composure came over me. Feeling almost like I was already in a dream myself, I managed to tug my nightshirt off, reaching out to her. "I'm not sure how it'll go. But…I'll try."

It wasn't the best experience either of us had ever had, and it stood in sharp contrast to the surprising, but utterly joyful, time we'd had less than a tenday ago on my birthday. There was too much of fear for the past, and the immediate future, for genuine delight. Still, she was careful with me in her own way, reassuring, cautious of making demand; for my part, I felt the difference in her, the yearning need to not be alone, but gentler, without the sharp edge of greed that had been there before.

No laughter or smiles or even words; only the two of us touching each other with almost a desperate clinging. I saw tears in her eyes—they might well have been in mine also. This was an almost painful intimacy, a thing of jagged edges and points that needed to be handled with care. At least the hurt and the dread was shared, and in being so, alleviated. It wasn't pleasure except in the basest sense of the word…but it was a deep comfort.

She stirred against me afterwards, murmuring a faint, "Thank you." I kissed her hair by my own way of thanks. "Do you feel me?"

"I feel you," I managed a feeble joke, my hand resting on her hip.

"Funny. I mean…do you feel my spirit? It should be easier for you—you're used to sensing souls because you're a paladin."

"Of course my soul knows yours," I whispered. "I love you—how could it be otherwise?" She gave a choked sob, gripping my hand in hers.

"Dreamwalking doesn't require spells or the like. It's hard because it needs absolute control and concentration. So when I'm sleeping, first you focus on sensing me on the dreamscape, on binding yourself to me—_tightly_, mind, so you visualize knotting the spirit-strings and everything. Then…it's like falling asleep, but it's more conscious effort. But it's a matter of untying yourself from earthly matters, of giving yourself to your soul rather than your body…and why am I lecturing a _paladin_ about how to get to a spiritual state?"

"Just relax and sleep." She made a faint questioning noise. "I'll find you," I promised.

She went to sleep soon after, her features relaxing into a semblance of peace. I wanted to rush to find her before whatever hellish encounter was in store for the night began, but I forced myself to be cautious. I could well imagine the consequences of being slapdash in matters involving consciously projecting the spirit onto a different plane. Still, she was right—I'd been taught to perceive souls and their attributes from a young age, and hers was so familiar to me that meditating, casting out with my senses, and finding the imprint of her spirit was a simple exercise.

Slow and careful I went, binding myself to her—I was more than a little pleased to see how strong and bright the soul-bond between us was compared to before. Then with even more caution and a pending sense of anticipation and dread, bit by bit I let myself go from the Prime.

When the blackness faded, I was shivering. The wind was gusting, sweeping up crystals of snow from the frozen ground and scattering them in swirls through the bitter air, catching the pale moonlight with an eerie twinkling. And above the dull howl, I heard the familiar sound of steel on steel.

I caught a figure nearby, and despite myself, I almost called out. Her back was to me, but the lines of her shoulders, the deep curve of waist and hips underneath the hauberk; they were so familiar. Yet Lianna's hair had never been almost to her waist…and she had certainly never learned the Hawk-in-the-Clouds sword form. She was perfectly capable with a blade, since I'd trained her intensively for over a year during the Shadow War, and we continued the habit even now. But this was very advanced technique. My time in Rashemen made me recognize that the form had derived from applying some the geometry of wielding a _shashka_ to a straight blade. The wide arcs and angled strikes were unexpected and therefore highly effective, but encouraging that was dangerous for an unskilled swordsman's naturally sloppy guard. I had been fourteen before Aribeth had even begun to teach me—one of the last things I'd learned from her.

She turned on her heel to parry a cut aimed at her head, her right foot sliding in the snow, throwing off her stroke. Instead of a full stop, the tip of the vampire's falchion slipped around her guard and flicked against her cheek, and the creature made the ghastly rattling of excitement that always accompanied the drawing of blood. "Chew on this," the woman barked. A slightly higher pitch than Lia's—and the tones were pure throaty Waterdhavian. The pieces all fell into place with her next words. She spoke the spell to turn the undead, and I stared at the glow of holy light as the vampire crumbled to ash to blow in the wind.

So this was a paladin, and of the Triad, to judge from her knowledge of Hawk-in-the-Clouds. My heart seemed to twist painfully as it came to me. Daeghun had remarked offhand to me that Lianna looked so much like her mother: Esmerelle Thirsk, the daughter of Waterdeep merchants and a paladin of Tyr.

The blood dripping down her cheek shone black in the moonlight. She looked a good bit like her daughter from what I saw, but her face was softer, rounder: Lianna had clearly gotten her elegant cheekbones and stubborn chin from that unnamed sire. I found myself studying her features with a strange ache in my chest. My beloved's mother, my fellow paladin…dead now almost twenty-five years. And from the undead swarming the commons of West Harbor, so much like the hordes that had attacked Crossroads Keep, I knew this was the night she was going to die.

Entranced as I had been by Esmerelle, I started to feel a cold hand slip its fingers through mine, and glanced to my side to see Lia standing there.

"My mother," lifting her chin towards the young paladin now engaging a ghoul, reeking and foul with the vapors of the grave. "This is the night the King of Shadows came. I was three and a half."

A young man in battered leathers passed by only a few feet from us, and looked right towards where we stood in the shelter of the trees, but said nothing, gave no hint that he'd even noticed us. "Can they see us?" I asked her.

"No. There are lots of kinds of dreams. This one is a memory. You can't change anything, and you can't interact with anyone in it." Her flat, toneless voice was terrifying, and I wondered how many times she'd been forced to watch her mother die. "These are the worst." They would be, for a woman so accustomed to action as Lianna. I shivered again, my clothes—must have been the bemused thought of showing up naked in a dream that had made me unconsciously provide them—poor protection. "Imagine yourself a cloak before you start sniffling," she said, finally a glimmer of amusement in her voice. I did, and just so, a thick winter cloak was around my shoulders, and I gratefully pulled it tightly around myself.

The shade vanquished and all quiet around her for a moment, Esmerelle turned to see a slender, short blond woman—from the gleam of moonlight on delicate cheekbones and a pointed chin, she was an elf. "Shayla!" Daeghun's wife, killed in this same battle. "You need to get away from here," Esmerelle urged. "The worst hasn't come yet. I can sense it, just out of reach. It's an evil that's thicker than anything I've ever felt. _Get out of here_ while you can."

"I can fig—"

"Don't be a fool," and again, I marveled at the easy tones of a trained leader, one accustomed to command—everything about her shouted of paladinhood. "Think of your baby, Shay."

I spun and looked at Lia. "Baby?" Daeghun Farlong had never mentioned that he was going to be a father before his wife was torn from him this night.

"Another thing Daeghun didn't tell me," she murmured, looking wistfully at her mother and her foster father's wife. "I haven't told him that I know. There's no good way to bring it up. But I see it now sometimes when he looks at Marrin…all the pain and longing and grief."

"Gods," I said softly, putting my arm around her.

Shayla replied equally vehemently, "And won't you think of yours, Esme?" Esmerelle lowered her sword, looking dumbstruck. "You may not talk about your lover, whoever he was, but gods know you love the girl he gave you. It makes me think you were fond of him. Did you ever tell him that he has a daughter?"

"Now is _not _the time," Esmerelle snapped. "I'm trying to fight a fucking battle here, Shay, not have a heart-to-heart. Go, and take Lianna with you, for Tyr's sake. I can't abandon the village, not with an evil like this ready to pounce."

"Tell it to her yourself," Shayla snapped, and turned slightly towards us so that I saw the toddler by her side holding her hand…the little girl who suddenly lurched forward and tackled the paladin at the knees, gripping like a baby velmar.

"Donwannago," she bawled into her mother's trousers.

Esmerelle reached down, and softly caressed Lianna's hair, wild and curly at this age. "Lia, lovey," she said softly, "Auntie Shayla will take you where it's safe."

"But I wanna make snow gnomes with you, not Auntie Shayla. And lily chains 'gain when the snow's gone. And you said we'll make mereberry jam in Flamerule."

"Of course I'll come see you as soon as I can."

"Promise?" Lia sniffled, raising her head. Selfish as it was to be in the middle of my wife's nightmare and be thinking such things, I wished that I could see her face as a child by more than moonlight.

"I swear it." I saw the curve of Esmerelle's smile. "Paladin's word, dear one. I can't break that. But there are some very bad things here I have to take care of first, so that you'll be safe."

"Kay," Lia agreed, but she still kept her burr-like clinging.

A _whoosh _of air, an abrupt stillness, and alarmed, I looked around as I remembered the sound of the portal in the Vale. Lianna—the adult one—grabbed my sleeve and pointed mutely towards the village green, where in future years the massive scar on the earth had been. I saw a lone figure with the gleam of silver, like liquid moonlight, in his hand. Ammon Jerro stood there with the Sword of Gith.

"They don't see me either," she remarked. "I've tried. I've even brought the sword here and tried to kill the King of Shadows myself with it. Not a scratch on him."

"How many times have you lived this?" I finally asked it quietly.

"Dozens." She sighed. "And why not? This is where all the nightmares come from, you know. My being the _Kalach-cha_ and everything we went through on campaign, the Founder's interest in me that led to the spirit-eater curse…it's all because I got stuck with the shard here."

I had the bad feeling of someone who had just stepped into a dragon's cave unaware. To help her was one thing, but to face head-on the nightmare that was the root of all her others—she was right—on my first try walking the dreamworld was daunting, to say the least. The thing was made worse because it was a dream where I could do nothing but stand by.

The King of Shadows stood there now, menacing blank nothingness against the starry sky. The waves of evil coming off of him hit me like a solid thing, as it had almost a year ago. At points during the battle it had been almost all I could do to not run for a corner and throw up. I saw Esmerelle gritting her teeth and wincing as well.

She looked at Ammon engaging the King of Shadows for a long moment, then down at her little girl. There was a flash of light as the blade shattered. I saw the flash of fear cross her face, but she made her choice. She dropped the sword in her hand into the snow, scooped up Lia and held her tightly to her chest, and deliberately turned her back to help shield her daughter.

Even a good chain hauberk was no match for magic-enhanced silver travelling so quickly. Even full plate wouldn't have saved her from that sort of projectile.

I didn't see the shard hit—it was traveling too quickly. But she gave a muffled groan of pain, and Lianna let out a cry also as the shard cut into her, just as the concussive shockwave knocked them both to the snow, as well as Shayla, blood spurting from a cut on her neck from another shard.

It was horrifying, as I watched the snow beneath Esmerelle grow black with the blood she was losing, melting and steaming from the heat of it. I could only imagine it was soaking Lianna as well from the exit wound on her front. Lianna was whimpering lowly in pain and terror, but her mother kept a tight grip on her. "Sweetheart," she said softly, her words soft and slurred from shock, "I love you. Remember that." I didn't hear anything from her after that.

I didn't even look up to see what had happened with the King of Shadows, and Lianna and I stood there, my arm around her, until dawn broke. The survivors hadn't ventured out yet to count the toll, too frightened by the unearthly happenings of the night.

I looked at the pitiful scene before me. First at Shayla: her moon-pale hair soaked black with blood, and aye, now that I looked, I saw the slight thickness at her waist. I grieved for Daeghun, feeling the weight of his loss so much more acutely than I would have before I had a wife and child of my own to be lost. It must have been unbearable—and I realized I understood how he could have come to believe it so much easier to feel nothing than to deal with such pain.

It was silent but for a faint snuffle now and again from underneath Esmerelle, whose very last motions had been to help wrap a corner of her bloodstained cloak around her daughter and to curl protectively around her—to try and keep her safe until she could be rescued. She hadn't even had the strength left to give Lianna a healing spell before she died. From the amount of frozen blood around her, I wasn't surprised. The curve of her cheek was marble white from the cold and the blood loss. It wrenched at me, but at the same time, oddly some part of me felt a peace in it, in her sacrifice. Looking at Lianna, she felt nothing of the sort.

"Shit. They always come at dawn," she murmured, her eyes not on the bodies, but looking into the distance.

"They?" I asked.

She didn't move out, but stared out over the frozen ground, and I saw the shadows gathering, slinking forward with the sinuous motion of wraiths. And unlike the people of the dream, there was no question that their eyes, red holes in the blackness, saw us. "What _are_ they?" I asked, incredulous.

"I'm not sure." She gave a low groan of distress. "All I know is that I can't move…"

"You're quite serious?"

"Do I _look_ like I'm fucking joking?" I heard the shrill note of terror in her voice. "Every time, I can't move, and they swarm over me, start ripping me apart from the scar first…they eat my heart right in front of me…"

I risked a glance towards young Lianna, in pain and imprisoned even as she was protected by her mother's body. Well, that answered one question, and engendered about a hundred more. Still, my Lianna was obviously in no state for chitchat, her eyes wide with panic. "Then I'll fight." It took only a thought and a sword was in my hand, the weight solid and reassuring. I strode forward, snow crunching under my boots, past the bodies. I gave them a very pleasant smile. "I don't suppose if I tell you lot to take off and die, you'll do it?" One of them gave a hissing, rattling laugh at that. "Guess not."

My first swing took off one's head at the neck. It bobbed in mid-air for a moment like a puff of smoke then neatly reattached itself. "Well, shit." Stabbing them through the chest also did no good, I found, nor did lopping off limbs, cutting them in two at the waist…all the while I was conscious of needing to give ground, retreating step by step back towards Lianna.

I felt the first hints of panic growing in me as I shouted a spell against the undead. In reality, they should have vaporized. Here, they seemed to just grow larger, like irritated cats raising their fur, and shook it off. "Lia," I said, gritting my teeth as their evil hit me all the harder, "I'm afraid you have some very nasty guests here."

"You said you'd _help _me!" she shouted.

"I'm gods-damn-well _trying_ to help!" I was barely eight feet from her now, and losing some of it every few seconds. There was nothing else to be done. "To hells with it," I muttered, taking the last steps back and planting myself as a shield in front of her. "Stay behind me," I said softly over my shoulder.

"Don't have much choice," she murmured back.

One of them finally spoke in a hissing voice. "Interloper. Stand away. We have no quarrel with you."

"You do, because you go through me first to get to her." Quietly I asked her, "Are you sure you still can't move?"

"No, I can't," she said, and the fear gripped me a bit harder. All right, maybe it was only a dream—being eaten alive was _not _going to be pleasant. "I could never wake up from this before, because it's always harder to break out of your own dream. But…you could still get out of here."

"Not a chance."

"You may want to," she urged. "It seems like whatever you suffer in someone else's dream does cause you some physical pain in reality, even if the dreamer usually just bounces right back."

"Oh, so what? If I get torn to shreds, it might hurt a bit in the morning? I'm still not leaving."

"If both of us concentrate, maybe we can wake up," she whispered urgently. "But we need to have contact, because otherwise I could leave you stranded here. Give me your hand." I reached behind me, found her hand and gripped it hard.

She was frightened out of her wits, and unfortunately, I was doing my best on my first try to simply reverse her instructions of how to enter a dream for how to exit. Suffice it to say, I was in more than a little pain by the time we woke up.

We both lay there, trembling and covered in a cold sweat. "That," I finally managed, "was…"

"Yes," she agreed, and didn't protest when I held her hard against me—her own arms went around me hard enough to bruise. "You didn't leave me."

"Why would I?"

"I've been eaten by those things before. If I could run…"

"Let's not get into that too much," I said heavily, rubbing a spot on my chest that was throbbing in pain. The memory of bone-chilling jagged teeth and claws was all too clear. "I couldn't do otherwise."

"Why?"

"Because I love you enough I'd die before I'd see you harmed—in a dream or in the waking world. Like your mother…she could have gone to fight the King of Shadows, but she loved you enough to see you safe first."

"Because she was my mother?"

"Because she was your mother. Because she was a paladin." I stared at her, feeling like lightning had just struck. "Because that's…that's what it is for us. Love."

"Sorry?" She murmured a healing spell, putting her hand on my chest. The ache died down a bit.

"Something I've mistaken a very long time, I think. And seeing your mother made me realize it. Paladins do what we do for a reason. We're called to serve and protect the people."

"Aye," she agreed cautiously. "You've always known that."

"Yes, but what I mistook is the _cause. _It shouldn't be that we'll give our strength for glory or duty. Those are drab things to explain that amount of sacrifice. I think…that it should be that we love the people—or a person—enough to lay down our lives, knowing they can't defend themselves as well as we can protect them. Esmerelle did it because she loved you as a mother, as a paladin. You can't pry the two apart, or from more love she had as a daughter, a friend, or any other. All that matters is that we ought to love that much, and be glad of it."

She reached up, put a hand to my cheek. "Well said."

I sighed, rolling onto my back and settling her back against me again. "As to your dream…it could just be me, but it seems that they grow through fear. The few times I noticed I was starting to worry, they only grew stronger. And inevitably, the closer they get…"

"…the more panicked I get," she finished my thought with a sigh of resignation. "It's a damn hard thing to ask, Casavir, that I stay calm while I'm getting ripped to shreds."

"I wouldn't ask it of you. There's nothing you can do about your mother's death. I'm sorry that you keep being forced to watch it again and again. But…take heart that she loved you, more than life itself. Had she not done what she did, you would have died—from your wounds, from an attack by one of the dark minions, or simply from the cold."

"I know. I just hate seeing her talk about mereberry jam and promise how she'll come see me as soon as she can…and then watching her bleed to death."

"Most sane people would. Interesting," I mused. "Most paladins, if they swear a promise, are obliged to keep it—to death and beyond. You've never had a visit from her ghost?"

"Not that I remember." I had the feeling that perhaps the spirit of Esmerelle Thirsk had looked in on her sleeping daughter some night, fulfilling her vow.

"I'll walk in that nightmare with you until we beat it. I don't care how many times it takes. I promise you that."

She made a low keening noise in her throat, her fingers gripping mine convulsively. "Gods, you're in for the long haul…"

"I've got the rest of my life with you," I reassured her. "And the bad comes with the good."

As for the good, it seemed enough that she slept soundly that night for the first time in almost a month—and that in the morning, we woke up to the sound of Khelgar and Neeshka bickering in the courtyard. Just like old times.


	17. The Ghost and The Darkness

_**Bishop**_

_Marpenoth 11, 1386 _

All in all, things weren't as bad as I'd imagined the entire time I was in Greenmeadow. I'd had visions of the worst sort of sanctimonious, shrewish female—and reeking of shiny holiness to boot. If I'd thought that Janneth's insistent prodding had been a pain in the ass, this was going to be ten times more annoying. At least I'd come to like the old man in time.

But as it happened, the paladin…the _other _paladin, actually, I probably had to call her…and I had fallen into sort of a mutually understood condition during our few days trekking north to Luskan. She didn't fill my ears with chirpy religious prattle, and I didn't complain about riding the gods-damned horses. Actually, she wasn't too bad for all that—not a peep out of her about righteousness and smiting and whatnot. Like Casavir most days, except in a more attractive package.

Still, Brienne Starfire wasn't much to look at in the grand scheme of things. I've give her that she had a great ass and a very nice chest, but the rest? Short, round, freckled and redheaded—not ugly, all right, but she clearly got the short end of the stick when it came to half-elves, most of which somehow managed to tend more towards elven good looks. Maybe it was just proximity to Luskan, and maybe it was being stuck with a paladin _again. _But the more hours that passed, the harder I felt the urge to needle her to try and break through that perfect composure. I had never managed it with Casavir, much as I felt it stirring in him, just below the surface. With her, I might as well have been a mosquito whining in her ear for all the reaction I got for my efforts.

Nudging the gelding, I pulled alongside her. I tried for my smoothest tone. "So, have you got someone back in Waterdeep to fill the chilly nights, or does your job do it for you?"

She raised an auburn eyebrow and eyed me like a sergeant about ready to bawl out a new recruit. The frosty look dissolved as she gave a derisive snort. "Is that an honest question or a very clumsy offer, Mister Rettikar?" So formal, like we'd met at some party somewhere—it was amusing as hell.

"Which would you like it to be, _Miss _Starfire?" If the wench was willing—well, I hadn't had a woman in my bed since Hammer, I realized. Nine months—no wonder I was starting to feel it. I hadn't so long gone without since my first—a camp follower the night before the siege on Neverwinter. I was sixteen and she was at least a decade older and plain as barley mush, but hells, I'd spent my years since I was seven virtually locked up. Facing the prospect of dying a virgin the next day, I was in no position to be too choosy. Not that I'd been like the sorry excuses who couldn't stay away from the bawdy houses. A warm wench was pleasant enough, especially after months sleeping cold in the woods, but once I scratched the itch a time or two upon getting back to town, that took care of it for a while. The lack must be catching up now, for me to be looking at this paladin that way.

"A question," she said crisply, gloved hands tightening on the reins. "I have no time for dalliances on a mission, and certainly not with you."

Well now, that stung, particularly in her very precise tones. How much had Casavir told her about my nature and my past? Not playing fair, that big dark bastard—we'd have to have a little _discussion _regarding that. "Oh, not with the likes of me, you say? Well, you wouldn't be my first choice either. Aren't paladins supposed to be really _attractive_?"

She reined in Eluthje abruptly and turned to me, and I admitted I was disappointed to see no spark of anger in her. "If you can't restrain yourself, I'll send you back to Port Llast to go find a woman at the tavern there, and proceed on my own. If that's not the case, stop mewling like a petulant child. It's not you as such—it's that too much rests on this mission for me to be distracting myself with someone I'll need to rely on as a partner."

"Didn't stop my sister from chasing down _her _right hand man, now did it?" _Sister_…still a bizarre and awkward thought, that. At least I'd managed get over the massive stumbling block of how nauseating my feelings for her before had been. I hadn't known, after all, and neither had she. I had enough sins committed knowingly on me without trying to claim other things besides. At least I managed to think of her relationship to me without bitterness now. So much made sense because of it.

"I'm not your sister. Nor are you Casavir Erelissohn, for that matter."

Wonderful—here was another female who adored the man. Was it too much to ask that I didn't have his name yammered in my ear constantly? "Yeah, I heard that a _lot, _trust me. Living up to the mark of the almighty paladin is a tough task for a simple ranger."

"If you're looking for reassurance, fine. You've shown me so far that you're a decent woodsman, and I appreciate that. Otherwise, talk to me after we've finished in Luskan. And by the way, it's not _Miss_. It's Seira—I have a knighthood."

Gods, she was one merciless woman. As she spurred her horse ahead again, I actually found myself grinning—compared to Casavir's polite indifference or even Lianna's kindly encouragement mixed with sarcasm, brutal honesty like this was fun. All part of the game—it'd just make finally getting through to her all the more enjoyable for all the effort it was obviously going to take.

We set up camp about two hours' ride from Luskan, and the crisp autumn air seemed to carry the same old scent. Too many people living in a dirty city always reeked, but to me, Luskan always seemed to smell of mold and rot and the sour-goat smell of fear and hopelessness. I hadn't been back here since the day I had left, escorted by the Circle of Blades, to complete my initiation. What in all the hells had I been thinking to agree to this, Casavir's fake pleasantries and arm-twisting aside? Really, hanging might have been better.

Just that quickly, the travel cake I was eating seemed to taste like sawdust. And I lost my appetite for the emerald salmon we had on the fire. She must have been some kind of witch to sense that, uncannily asking me what she did next. "What do you know of Luskan?" she said, staring towards the torch-fires burning tiny in the distance from the watchposts on the walls like she was in some kind of a trance.

"More than you, pretty paladin," I snapped, tossing Karnwyr the rest of the cake, which he gobbled up in a heartbeat, giving a grumble of contentment. Lucky mutt; he'd never been to this shit-hole of a city before, so he was resting easy tonight. Not me. I knew too much about Luskan, all right, I'd earned every bit of the knowledge in lots of hardship and pain.

"Ah," she said simply, turning her head back towards me and studying me with an air of eerie calm. "So you've suffered at Luskan's hands, I see."

So dismissive, so nonchalant of all that it meant—gods, I hated her in that moment, enough that I thought of the knife on my belt. It was only with difficulty that I squelched down the feeling, like wrestling back a rock-cat with it clawing you all the while. "You don't 'see' a gods-damned thing."

"Try me."

Well, she certainly wasn't going to get the entire story. I had been the sort of thing they probably told paladin pages about to give them nightmares. None of her damn business, and even the gist was frightening enough. "Raiders stole me from my village on the Fallowmark when I was seven. I spent the next years as a slave to the army. One day I got a shitty sword and a breastplate that was probably made when my grandfather was a babe pressed on me, and was told we were marching on Neverwinter. I went. I fought. I didn't have a fucking clue why. And I spent four days half-dead from fever after my wounds went off—healers are few, you know, in a city full of evil."

"Naturally. The clerics are far more interested in giving pain than alleviating it." I still remembered the Banite standing over me, prodding my wounds with rough hands. He'd growled that he didn't have spells to waste, even for Hassileah's new pet. That was the first I had heard the name of the Night Mistress—seemed I'd caught her attention with my conduct during the battle. Within a tenday I'd met her and heard her offer of something greater than a bad death in a senseless fight. Three days after that I moved out of the barracks and into Nightshade Tower. I thought I understood pain well enough. That next month in her bed, I found out I didn't know the half of it.

"I escaped when I was twenty-one, went south, and I never came back until this moment." Well, I'd gotten about as much reaction from that as I'd expect from the average rock. "Now, do you need all the details about the torture and the beatings and the starvation, or can your sweet innocent little paladin mind even imagine them?"

"You think that because I'm a paladin, I can't conceive of that kind of suffering?"

"A paladin doesn't know about Luskan, that's for sure. There's not a paladin in that city, because if there were, they'd probably hang themselves in despair. Yeah, you made a mission or two here successfully and got some people out. You get the idea, but you don't _get it_."

"I know the character of this city well enough." Finally I got a spark of emotion for my trouble, a faint startle. Oh, now that was something; I keyed in on it with interest.

"Oh really? Care to fill me in, since you've gotten my life history? We'll have a tender moment swapping tales. Let me get the handkerchief out."

Stretching her hands towards the fire as if she was suddenly feeling the night air, she spoke. "My mother was a wild elf," she said almost tonelessly. "She was still young when she was captured in the woods and sold to traders here in Luskan. And since most people have never seen a wild elf, she was quite a profitable _curiosity_ in the brothel that bought her. My father was red-haired and human. That much is obvious. I'm still not sure that would narrow it down to less than a half-dozen candidates in the few tendays in question."

"So you grew up here." All right, that explained something about her. The daughter of a dockside whore would have enough opportunity to see the filth of this place. And if by some happy chance she'd turned into someone lacking the absolute void of decency that characterized a true Luskanite? Yeah, if she were ambitious and maybe a little stupid, she might get inspired to do something decent with her life. Still, paladin, in my opinion, seemed too much like overcompensating.

"If you might call it that," she allowed, rubbing her hands together nervously. "She died when I was still very young—more of heartbreak at being imprisoned in a city than from fever. The owner tried very hard to save his investment, of course. But healers charge extortionate rates here. And so I was indentured until I could pay that debt. It was cleaning, cooking, serving—that sort of thing."

"Until one day it wasn't," I guessed. Most of the brothels here were little different from cheap whorehouses anywhere. A few were refined, or at least pretended with champagne and nice dresses that the services were about more than five minutes pumping away over a bored woman. But some of the brothels carried certain nastiness to them. If one of them had managed to buy a wild elf, that indicated several things. It would be expensive, in order to offer exotic treats like that. It would be exclusive, catering to more unusual tastes. And given those two facts, it would be unscrupulous enough to get whatever its customers would pay for. If that happened to include a pervert who offered enough for the virginity of a little slave girl…yes, it was suddenly making sense. And I couldn't help but feel alternately nauseated and infuriated.

She nodded, too quickly, staring into the heart of the flames. "I was eleven. One of the regular patrons apparently recommended me to a friend…" I knew I was staring at her like she'd grown a second head, but I couldn't help it. She was a half-elf. Their aging lagged a few years behind that of a human child…gods, it would have been like raping a seven or eight year old. Even at my worst, I wouldn't have done anything like that.

Not noticing, or maybe not caring, that she had me speechless, she went on. "I escaped when I was sixteen and went to Neverwinter. I had a few pleasant years there working in a tavern. But after the Wailing Death and the siege, it didn't seem safe. I fled south to Waterdeep. And then Mephistopheles attacked my new home…it seems horror and evil can find you anywhere. I was tired of running. So I decided to I had to face the darkness and fight it. I became a paladin."

"See, now that's sensible enough. You found your guts. A person should be willing to fight. Hard to respect someone who won't, you know."

The trance disappeared, and she fixed me with another of her cool glances. Lianna could stare at me with some intensity, but the sheer patient _nothingness_ Brienne gave me was unnerving. "Strange words for someone who's sitting here tonight ready to mount a rescue mission to save people in misery."

Caught in my own snare—I realized it too late. I'd spoken the words out of years of assurance that they were true. And damn her if she hadn't called me out on it. _Not very Ilmaterian, Rettikar_, I mused sarcastically. _Try harder unless you want to start explaining a __lot__ of awkward sins. _"Look," I tried to explain, feeling like I was making a bad job of it, "sure, there are people that can't save themselves. You and I, we were just helpless kids when they did what they did to us. But when we got old enough, we fought back by getting away. Maybe you won't succeed, but all it takes is the will to act. If they manage to take that from you, I figure you might as well be dead."

She didn't lecture me more on the subject for all that I expected my answer had rung false for what I was supposed to be. "But for every one like us, dozens can't find the courage. This is a city that breaks spirits as easily as kindling. Have you heard the word _schadenfreude_?"

"No." Sounded like a thing from a painfully weighty book, and I wondered how a former Luskan whore, whose childhood education had to have been as bad as mine, had come to sound so very educated. Probably along with the determination to become a paladin—I knew their lot well enough to know that they were largely the spare kids of blueblooded snots, with a few merchants thrown in. If she wanted to run with their pack, she'd have to bring herself up to snuff and not let on what she'd been.

"It's Cormyrian."

I'd never been to the great forest kingdom to the east. The furthest away I'd been was Waterdeep, and gods, that city was an arrogant piece of work. Never mind the shady politics and dark back-alley dealings—the Waterdhavians looked down their nose at everybody around them as provincial and very backward._ Everything_, according to them,was superior—Waterdhavian art, music, wine, women, wit. There were times I wanted to take their _esprit d'joie_, as they called it, and shove it down their throats. Neverwinterians were sometimes dour, but at least they were humble enough. I sometimes thought that Piergeiron didn't have much of a clue what really went on in his city, or maybe he'd just thrown up his hands in sensible frustration realizing he'd never fix it. "Never been there. But they can't be as arrogant as Waterdhavians," I challenged her. She didn't seem to have absorbed enough of their attitude to have her loyalty be stung by the insult.

She gave what might have actually been a snort of laughter. "They are a piece of work, I'll admit. I always felt more at home in Neverwinter…" She trailed off, looking away for a moment, unwilling to conclude that thought. Maybe she'd left someone behind when she packed off in a hurry for safer places when I'd been in the army knocking at the gates—and lost them to a Luskan blade. It struck me how I deeply hoped it hadn't been mine. I'd killed my share of men that day. "Anyhow, _schadenfreude_ translates roughly to taking joy in the misery of another."

"Ah, that's Luskan's favorite hobby." We shared a glance of surprising understanding…only those who had been there could.

"I suppose it must enrage you," she mused, drawing her cloak around her a little more tightly as Eluthje stirred restlessly, snorting and stamping her hoof. "As a Tyrran the injustice and cruelty of this city appalls me, but to have such suffering, and those who take such pleasure in it…the Ilmaterians must see Luskan as a particular affront."

Again, I got that nagging sense that she knew exactly where to prod the weak points of my story. I recalled a rant or two from Janneth Sandower, all right. I'd happily added my two coppers to the subject. "I see it as an affront in any sense. Look at what they did to the two of us. They tried to wipe out Neverwinter, first with disease, and then by warping the captain of Nasher's own Nine to become a blackguard and attack them." I rolled my eyes. "To hear tell, though, Nasher basically handed the woman to them gift-wrapped by throwing her lover to the lynch mob." Not one of the more shining moments of Lord Nasher Alagondar.

"We've all heard of Aribeth de Tylmarande," she said shortly. "And believe me, she's become quite the lesson for young paladins."

I didn't tell her that I'd seen the woman, spoken to her briefly. Aribeth and her near-madness had frankly been terrifying, even to a boy who'd spent the last nine years seeing all sorts of horrors. "Shining example of what not to become, I suppose. She paid for it hard, though." After all, when Lianna had come up for a trial by combat, of _course _the people of the city had been chattering about the last time one had happened. Scuttlebutt told me that eleven years earlier, Aribeth de Tylmarande had been cut down in a duel by her ex-apprentice—a seventeen-year-old by the name of Casavir Erelissohn.

I'd treated the entire tavern to a round at that choice bit of dirt on the shining holy one. I had to admit I was actually embarrassed now at how absolutely gleeful I'd been to hear that the thing with Ophala wasn't his first whiff of scandal by far. I'd tried to clue Lianna in about it later, only to have her cut me off and tell me that he'd told her all about it already while she'd been keeping vigil. That was the beginning of the end of things between us. Even if there hadn't been that spark between us mistaken for romance, from that day on, it didn't matter. She was drawn closer and closer to him each day, like a moth to a candle, and he seemed to light up all the more in response. I'd known it deep in my gut. I just hadn't wanted to admit it.

"She did. And so did others, unfortunately. Far too many."

"Not Luskan, though. They didn't miss a step in the scheming. I suppose they told you all about their latest plot…the one that involved trying to kill my sister?"

"Of course. Does that," she mused, "inspire you as well, perhaps?"

"It pissed me off, I'll tell you that." I'd had a few thoughts about cutting Lorne Starling's throat in the night. We'd fought enough when we were both in training by the Circle of Blades. I'd hated him even then, because he'd had a choice I never had—he was a whiny giant who'd abandoned a good life in Neverwinter, sniveling about his talents not being properly recognized. Sweetly fitting irony, I'd mused, if I took care of him for Lianna. But I didn't, for some reason. Probably because she'd asked me not to; I'd found her earnestness sort of diverting, and if she wanted to claim the right, he was definitely her kill to make. "Anything I can do to sting Luskan, trust me, I'm more than happy."

It startled me to look up and see that she was actually giving me a tiny smile, almost as if it was an expression she wasn't used to making. "Then I'm glad to have you with me."

Approval was a funny feeling, really, and not one I was exactly comfortable with. "Yeah, well. Maybe you'd better get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be tough. I've got first watch." I knew I wasn't going to get to sleep right away, and I honestly just wanted some time alone without her watching me with that knowing glance.

For some odd reason, she didn't hesitate to trust me with that. "Thank you," she said gratefully, rolling herself up in her cloak and pillowing her head on her saddlebag.

"Seems nice," Karnwyr offered through our mind-bond, sidling up to me and laying his head on my knee as I stared at the fire. It still surprised me a bit that I didn't need a magical ring to talk to him any longer. That at least was one present from Ilmater I appreciated.

"Your definition of 'nice' needs some work, _kammak_," I told him incredulously, but I rubbed the soft fur underneath his chin while he closed his eyes in pleasure.

He gave an impatient huff. "Letting you join her pack, yes? And strong female," he added as an afterthought. "Challenges you, keeps _you_ strong. Not like last one. Malin weak."

Malin at her best wasn't exactly a bold woman, but by now I had to admit, the way I'd been during the six tendays we were together was probably enough to scare most sane females anyhow. "Yeah, whatever. Stop trying to mate me off, Kar. Unlike you, I don't try to mount every female I see."

"Only ones ready to mate," he cheerfully informed me, as usual, entirely unbothered by my insulting him. "Should find a good female, _ilanaak_. Not getting younger."

"Shut up," I growled. "You're starting to sound like my mam." Or at least, what Khallendra Rettikar _should_ have sounded like. That would presuppose her being a real kind of mother, of course, rather than a woman busy raising her skirts for any man or half-grown lad in Redfallows Watch who'd pay her any mind at all. At least she hadn't moved there until after I was born. Bad enough to be a slut's bastard, but it would have been even more humiliating growing up to look at the faces of all the local males and wonder which of them had fathered me.

Well, whoever my sire was, he'd certainly done well on his second mistake. Not bad, inadvertently fathering a girl who'd grow up to save the Sword Coast. Blame that on the influence of Lianna's mother being yet _another_ paladin rather than a lightskirt. Hells, she was still good-hearted enough to wish me well now, even if she'd understandably wanted to kill me in Eleasias. I pulled the cloak she'd given me tighter around my shoulders, gratefully feelings its warmth, and sighed. Damnation. For better or worse, Lia and I were stuck with each other. There was too much history between us, and now that undeniable call in the blood. I couldn't just walk away, much as some part of me screamed for it.

Ilmater knew, though, I had no idea what the hells I was going to do with it. I wasn't exactly the sort of brother you invited for Midsummer festivals and plopped your baby on his lap. I hadn't even got a good look at Lia's little girl. Although with my luck she'd take entirely after her father, both in looks and personality, bloody do-gooder that he was. The position of being actually beholden to Casavir Erelissohn wasn't one I exactly enjoyed. Unfortunately I didn't see a scenario in the near future where he'd get himself into enough of a scrape that I could somehow bail him out and relieve myself of the debt.

With that much on my mind, it was a long night for all that. I was actually grateful when we got going in the morning—filling my head with what lay ahead knocked the other problems right into the corner. Fair enough, after all. Luskan was far too vicious a beast to not take seriously, and this was a dangerous game we were trying to play. That fact was both exhilarating and disconcerting. I'd never minded risking the odds in the past, and that it gave me pause now bothered me more than I'd have liked to say.

I settled for giving Brienne a flippant, "Tone down the holy shine, pretty paladin. We'll be there shortly." She didn't bother to reply.

The guards at the Stingray Gate were stopping inbound travelers—business as usual. The moment we got nearby, a pair of wicked-looking, crossed halberds blocking the way immediately got our attention. "What's your business in Luskan?"

"The wife and I are come on business," I said with a slight shrug. No use trying to fight. The archers prowling the battlements above with ready crossbows and suspicious eyes would ensure we didn't get too far.

The one on the right, tall and fair and far too handsome—which automatically made me hate him—raised a pale eyebrow and looked at the pair of us. "Where's your stuff to sell, then?"

"You misunderstood. We're here to_ procure_**," **I informed him, giving him just the right expression to make him think I was a man not to be crossed. That, and a leather pouch of twenty gold coins pressed into his palm, shut his mouth easy enough. He probably figured us for traders looking to buy flesh to sell to Amn as slaves, narcotics, or the like.

We were waved right on in, and I swore I could sense Brienne brimming with some kind of righteous indignation. The first place we were out of earshot, I decided to put an end to it. "Oh please," I said, turning to look over my shoulder at her, "don't give me the lecture on honest conduct."

All right, I had called that wrong. She actually looked pensive rather than pissed, and gave me a trace of a smile. "That was well done. It's more difficult for me. I can't lie, after all."

"Really, now?" Now there was a fun tidbit that Casavir had neglected to share. I assumed it wasn't an actual _inability _so much as it was a prohibited thing for a paladin. Still…yeah, that explained a lot about his silence, his constant evasions and only half-saying things. He'd wanted to protect Lianna, sure, but he wanted to do a lot more than that besides.

She gave a low-throated sound of amusement, not quite an open laugh. "Don't think it really buys you anything in advantage. We get quite good at leaving things unsaid, equivocating, diverting attention, and the like. My faith in particular."

"Of course," I said, pleased that I managed only a trace of sarcasm. With all their study of law and the subtleties and nature of interpretation, the Tyrrans _would_ be good hands at eeling their way around an issue. Part of why I'd never trusted the paladin, really. He rarely said straight up what he thought; always too careful to couch it in chivalry and noncommittal words. "And it wasn't a lie, really. We're here to procure, all right."

"Certainly," she said, still on the verge of a grin. "I can't approve of outright lying, of course, but there are some times where you have to use some persuasion and trickery…"

Ah, a sensible paladin, this one. I could almost halfway like her in some moments. "But then," I couldn't resist, "you must be upset that I called you my wife."

"Shut up and keep moving, _dear_," she said, dismounting Eluthje and taking the mare's reins in her hand. Well, at least she didn't say it maliciously.

We stabled the horses at a livery near the Hammerhead Gate, where we planned to exit the city. That was a basic principle of stealth: don't let the people who saw you arrive be the same ones to see you leave. The owner was a hefty barbarian woman, and from what little I knew about horses, it looked like the ones already there were well-cared for. Although she made it clear she had little love for their owners when Brienne asked about buying spare mounts for the "guests" we intended to bring along for the return trip. Or maybe, I thought with some wonder, looking at the spark of suppressed anger in her, she was one of the few in Luskan who had little love for flesh peddlers and didn't mind hurting in the purse to show it. Not quite enough to tell us to go to the hells and to take our own horses elsewhere, unfortunately.

"Never mind it," Brienne said, seeing quickly enough that she'd blundered there. "I see that it's impossible. Thanks for your time, and we should return tonight for our horses."

"Twelve gold extra each if you're not here by dawn," she called after us.

"Charming woman," I said as we headed into the city center.

She looked about ready to make a smart reply to that, but her eyes lit on the spectacle in the square. And her already fair skin went even paler.

It didn't take long for me to figure it out. We were seeing the end of a Prisoner's Carnival. Luskan's idea of "justice" was to bring the prisoners out and give them a chance to confess their crimes—helped along by the persuasion of various degrees of torture. Of course, really, it was more of a kind of gory entertainment meant to appeal to the most atavistic parts of a person. The worst one I'd seen was when they made a show of the prisoners from Neverwinter. The crowd had been howling with joy that day. Today's offering was poor fodder for the crowd, to judge, since they were somewhat silent. The prisoners must have squealed and sung whatever tune they'd been asked to before the torment really got going in earnest.

All but for the one still up there, silent and still. She was an Uthgardt woman to judge from her height and dark hair, and the intricate swirl of woad tattoos across the blood-spattered breasts that the torturers had deliberately bared—probably to the glee of the men in the crowd. I wondered if they'd raped her yet, or if that was being saved as something to savor for later. Things had progressed far; the table beneath her was soaked with blood, fresh trickles of it dripping off towards the planks of the platform now and again. Still, I knew this was the sort of woman that would probably die before giving in, beaten, broken, and bloody as she already was. _That could have been Lia stretched out on that table,_ I thought, feeling the hot coils of anger in me at the realization. If Garius and Torio Claven had gotten their way, it would have been.

The paladin, next to me, was almost gasping for air, trembling all over. "Come on," I hissed, tearing my eyes from the sight of the "judge", a Cyricist cleric, extracting a length of the woman's innards from a small incision in her belly. He pulled it out delicately as a seamstress working gold thread for embroidery. As he reached for the stoat in its cage to let it start nibbling away, Brienne snapped out of it long enough to get away.

"Well done," I said angrily, gripping her hard by the arm as we hid in an alleyway behind a tavern reeking of cheap _akkawit_. "You almost gave us away by looking revolted instead of just bored. Didn't you ever see the Carnival as a kid?"

"They didn't let me out very often," she shot back defensively. "It's a mockery," she burst out angrily. "What does this have to do with _justice_? Good gods, you'd confess to killing your own mother if they put you in enough pain."

That hit a little too close to home, considering that I probably had a hand in killing her. Damn paladins; give them the inability to lie and they seemed to gain the eerie ability to hit the truth in others with a single shot. "Yeah, and you think it's any more fair in the south?" I said curtly. "Your Tyrran 'trial by combat' is just as big a spectacle."

"It's the right of the acc—"

"It's the right of the accused to be matched up against the best fighter they can find," I snapped, remembering Lianna's fight with Lorne all too well. I hated Casavir that day for how he'd looked at her. But if he hadn't been fast on his feet to go and heal her, she'd probably have bled to death. Tymora must have been smiling to give her victory, because she wouldn't have lasted another five minutes the way that she was getting pummeled. "Tell me, since you _can't lie,_" I drawled, "have you fought any ritual combats? I know you have them in Waterdeep."

"One," she snapped, brown eyes flashing like lightning. "Just once, and that was enough."

"And your opponent?" From the look on her face, it wasn't a memory she treasured. Some part of me, stirred up by the Carnival, wasn't willing to let her off so easy. So I pressed harder. "Bet you're not going to tell me he beat you and won his freedom."

She looked away, and there was a rasp of emotion in her voice when she answered. "A boy, all right? He was just a boy, one who should never have been made to enter that arena."

"Well there you have it. Bet they told him he might escape hanging that way, that he actually had a chance. And I'm sure at least some of them secretly enjoyed making a show out of his death. Ah, they're rotten here in Luskan, pretty paladin, but at least they're open about their malice."

She stared at me as though she'd never seen me before. Then she looked away, down towards the grimy cobbles. "Perhaps you're right. There are…injustices and cruelties everywhere." That surprised me. I'd expected a lecture for the outburst, particularly since I knew it gave too much away about me. "But none so foul as here," she concluded defiantly. "When a woman can be tormented as a spectacle before so many people and none think to protest…"

"You're not going to charge back there and demand her release, are you?" I said wearily, already imagining how to get away if she was determined to pursue that course of gallant, absolutely futile idiocy.

She took a long look back towards the square, where a few feeble cheers finally came, and her shoulders slumped. "No. It's still their law, unfair and nasty as it is, and…I can't fight that with just a sword. She'll die whether I tried or not." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I'll have to settle for what good I can accomplish, and hope that someday I have a hand in shutting that kind of thing down. But for now, I'll pray that her soul finds Tyr's justice in the afterlife."

"Then you're smarter than most." Still, it seemed strange that somebody who had been through the worst that Luskan had to offer would react like that—even a Tyrran who should naturally be disgusted.

Of course, after feeling smug that she'd been the one to look bad, I had to go screw things up myself. It was almost inevitable, really—the gods were giving me a swift kick in the ass to remind me pretty sharply that I wasn't Luskanite, and that I was supposed to be _doing_ something about it.

It was coming up on dusk by the time we made it to the Docks Ward and managed to wait out the guards losing interest in us, as they always kept an eye on new arrivals. Of course, the scum came slithering out from under a rock even more with the approach of darkness.

One of the streetcorner peddlers tugged my sleeve. "Got something that might interest you," he whispered.

"I really doubt it," I said flatly, barely glancing at him long enough to see the matted, long hair and the wild, bright eyes in the unshaven face. I could smell that he hadn't bathed in a while, and I could hear him sniffling constantly as his damaged nose ran. I was all too well aware of the shit this type sold to people, and I didn't want anything to do with it any longer.

"I'll give you a really good price."

"Not. Interested," I said between my teeth, and I was aware of Brienne faintly stirring by my side.

"What, you've never tried it?" he attempted. "It's amazing. Makes everything feel so much better…you and your lady here could find _that _out. Livens up your bed like…" He was cut off by my fist hitting his face.

"I said," I snarled, "that I don't want anything to do with your 'stuff'. Now pack off if you know what's good for you." I still could call up a good amount of menace when I wanted, and damn, did I want to in this case. He scurried, all right, not bothering to look back. But he dropped a fat black leather pouch in his haste. Seeing it lie there in the lamplight, I crouched to pick it up, and almost like in a dream, undid the strings to see the contents. I already knew what it would be: heaven and hell in a white powder.

"Ecgona," Brienne said softly over, peering over my shoulder.

I nodded. "Yeah," not trusting myself to say more. I was all too familiar with the effects of ecgona, all right. It wasn't something I liked to remember. Hassileah had given it to me early on as a "training aid". Everything she had me do the next few months, ramped up constantly on this shit, felt like I was flying, like I was ready to explode out of my own body.

Every sensation was amplified until the razor's edge between pain and pleasure ceased to exist. I fought others in the combat arena like a mad dog, enjoying the feel of being wounded as much as scoring a hit on my opponent. The nights in her bed—her mouth on my cock or her knife across my skin were equally incredible. Even after I'd come down off the heights of the intoxication, I'd deliberately cut myself shaving more than once just to try and find that sensation again, and I'd seriously considered chopping off a finger or two.

From then on, I craved the stuff like nothing else. Ordinary life just couldn't compare to that kind of rapture. The fact that when I went too long without that I started throwing up, breaking into a cold sweat, and trembling all over only sealed the deal. And she was only too happy to provide…so long as I did what I was supposed to.

Of course, I'd had to go off it when Duncan rescued me. After all, ecgona was definitely a Luskanite poison. It wasn't exactly something you could get in Neverwinter, except maybe in the past from the Shadow Thieves. And I'd been too busy trying to not die from multiple arrow wounds to have much say in trying to get the half-elf to go buy me some—even if he would have, which of course he wouldn't. Suffice it to say, being forced to go off my pet addiction only made my recovery all that much worse. And I knew Duncan knew what I was going through, and it only made me hate him even more.

Afterwards, I'd convinced myself that I didn't need to _need _anything, ecgona included. I'd kept myself happy enough with more minor diversions: a bit of ale, the occasional whore, and some khabbis now and again. It spoke of how shitty a state I'd been in after Lianna had sent me packing in the Vale that I'd spent most of my time in Neverwinter before finding Ilmater on a constant bent of whores, narcotics, alcohol, and fights. I would never have wanted to admit before that anyone could throw me off that much.

I'd only slipped up once—right before I ended up forced into Lianna's company. I'd met my sweet little sister fresh from the country already, and told her to take a hike. But while she was off playing orcslayer with Casavir in the mountains, I'd been up in Luskan territory with Malin. Couldn't understand why she'd attached herself to me, really, but for the moment, I'd found her near-worship amusing. She'd been a virgin when she met me, and all I could think at the time was some annoyance at how clumsy and timid she was. I realized now that she'd been very young, almost still a kid.

And then we'd met a Luskan raiding party, and wiped them out. I'd been happy enough to do it. While we were going through their possessions, I had come across a pouch just like this one. I'd slipped it in my jerkin before Malin saw it, and had only pulled it out again after she'd fallen asleep for the night. Dumb fool that I was, I'd remembered how I'd felt using it, and had convinced myself that I was strong enough to control myself now, to just use it occasionally like I did any other kind of vice.

I really didn't remember what came next. But from seeing Malin's face when we came to Port Llast a few months later, and the ghost of terror there, whether it was just instinct or fractured memories, I knew. I was happy to kill Luskans then, but normally I'd do it quickly, just dispatching another piece of vermin. The next few tendays, I'd butchered them slowly, laughing like a madman. As for whatever might have passed between us in terms of sex…well, I was probably happy I couldn't recall. I was pretty certain I'd threatened to kill her at least once, though.

She hurried to leave me when we went through Port Llast. And the ecgona ran out shortly after I got back to Neverwinter. I'd spent an excruciating tenday sweating it out and wanting to burn the world for creating it in the first place. I'd still been hurting, desperately craving more, and sniffling constantly from the damage snorting the shit did to your nose, when I ended up with Lianna. Not a good combination, really, and I'd probably been even less of my charming self than usual on that trip.

As I had then, I slipped the pouch inside my tunic. Its weight lay heavily against my chest, mocking me with its closeness. But this time I knew I wasn't going to touch it except for one reason. "I'm burning this when we're back at camp," I told her grimly.

"You have…passionate opinions about the stuff." There was a question in her voice.

I refused to answer it, trying for something she might buy. "Most people don't know that this stuff exists. But Ilmater's got to weep at the sight. It makes people suffer with everything it does. The people who take it end up in agony, the people they meet while they're out of their heads end up hurt..."

She laid a hand on my shoulder for a moment. "Then it's as well that someone cares enough to fight against it."

I tried to shake off the feeling of being strangely pleased. I got to my feet, looking towards own towards the docks. The dimly lit red lanterns of Satin Street caught my eye. "Should we go for a brothel?" I suggested, nodding. "Some of the girls need help as much anyone else." That was about as close as I could come to some kind of apology. But she must have understood, because she gave me a more genuine smile this time.

And so I was going to go into a brothel for the sole purpose of _rescuing_ wenches. And I was doing it with a paladin, to boot. I couldn't help but think as I followed her towards Satin Street that the gods really had a bizarre sense of humor.


	18. Dangerous Liaisons

_**Bishop**_

_Marpenoth 12, 1386_

Brienne's breath was warm against my ear as she murmured into the bitter autumn night, "Did you hear me?"

"Got you, pretty paladin," I said, as we stood across the street from the Jade Mermaid, one of the dives on Silk Street. "I can be let off the leash occasionally, you know."

She made a small sound of frustration. "This isn't me pulling any kind of leash just to prove a point," she insisted, a sharp edge entering her voice. For a former downtrodden whore who had spent a lot of her years running scared, she certainly had an easy confidence when it came to command now. Probably yet another thing they hit paladins upside the head with when they were being trained to be good little holy minions. "Charessa decided to be impulsive. She paid with her life. _Stick to the plan_."

"Here now, let me see. This is a _paladin_ telling me to not get too heroic…can I get that in writing?" And here I was under the impression that overdone gestures of idiotic and often futile heroism were their unique signature. Oddly refreshing, I decided, to find one with a lick of sense to her, even if she was a mouthy piece of work.

Her hand tightened on my shoulder, just a split second of pressure in warning. "I don't know what your quarrel is with me and my sword-brothers and sisters, but let that bide. We have bigger fish right now."

"I've got you," I said with just an edge of scorn, lightly flexing my wrists and fingers to help keep them supple. My hands been broken a few too many times as punishment when I was a kid—snapping a finger was a real favorite of the Hosttower guards—so now they stiffened up easily in the cold. "Like I said, I survived this city. I know how it works. I'm not a man you need to worry about getting idealistic and stupid at the wrong moment…unlike your precious Casavir."

"For having traveled with him for a year and a half, being here on his recommendation, and being his goodbrother by virtue of his marriage to your sister, Bishop, you seem to bear him a remarkable amount of ill will."

"What can I say? He always seems too good to be true," I remarked back smartly, stung by her scrutiny. I'd been stupid, grabbing the easy chance to take a shot at Casavir to prod her, and not considering how it might give me away.

He had to be the oh-so-noble scion of some inbred Blacklake family from the way he talked and carried himself, but at least he had gained enough in the way of balls to question the system and how it worked. Even if it had been in part because of the whole debacle over the sweet and noble maiden fair, Ophala Dathalein—who sounded like she'd played Casavir with impressive skill—he'd been willing to get out from civilization and do more than just talk big. It had made me hate him just that little bit less, even if he was a high-minded fool with a too-fancy mouth on him.

Brienne gave a soft grunt of frustration at my insulting her favorite sword-brother, but didn't take the bait. She left me standing and strode down the street towards the Fleur d'Nuitte, backside swaying gently with each step. What a waste of a fine set of hips; putting them on a paladin who probably hadn't looked at a man in years. Yeah, it was the lack of a woman lately; that, and the fact that I was about to go into a brothel. That had to be it.

As well I was headed for the Mermaid: the Fleur offered a choice selection of "Waterdhavian lilies". Meaning that the whores supposedly possessed two qualities of the ladies of our southern neighbor—worldly sophistication and a lack of shame. Of course, the real quality pillowhouses the rich and noble buggers went to were all up in the Towers Ward. My bet, personally, was that these were a pack of well-trained Luskan dock trulls swanning around with an affected nasal accent and arrogance and with their tits spilling out of their silk bodices. The Docks Ward brothels already gave me enough cause to be nauseated without throwing overblown décor and sophistry in the mix.

"Stick to the plan," I muttered, rolling my eyes. Yeah, sure. I'd stick to it well enough since most of it made perfect sense—I didn't have delusions, like I told her, about going in, waving a sword, and calling them out. But I reserved the right of some ability to adapt said plan; I was nobody's mindless lapdog, after all. And already my thoughts were turning like mill wheels, testing how best to exploit the advantages I had in this little venture that Brienne didn't.

She had to go in and spin a good but cautious story. Her being a female in a brothel would be unusual enough; women, on the whole, didn't need to pay for use of a cock. There were plenty free for the asking, after all. Still, I could imagine how it would play out, talking about being interested in buying some of the merchandise permanently, being carefully vague as to what purpose. The pimp would likely assume she was purchasing with an eye towards the slave trade; fair northern females were apparently commanding quite the price in Amn of late, a fact I'd happened across during my own little sweep of the Neverwinter Docks.

I just hoped she wasn't going to be ready to crack herself from going back into the hellhole of a Luskan brothel and slip up. It came to me, with some surprise, that I was actually a bit concerned about the holy pain in the ass. She'd have to play every moment of it with care and hope she didn't get questioned too intensely. Me? Well, I was male and less suspect to begin, and I could lie without any problem. I intended to take full advantage of those facts.

I closed the door behind me, and saw immediately that this was a place with a few small pretensions towards the niceties—the burly doorman eyed me with a steely glare and told me to wipe my feet. Scrubbing the muck and horseshit off onto the rough jute of the mat, I raised an eyebrow at him and waited for his scowling nod.

I found a table and got seated. The bar wench sashayed over and asked with a bored tone, "Ale?"

"Yeah." I tossed her a silver serpent by way of thanks and assurance of speedy service. Though I'd be shocked if the ale wasn't rat piss, and probably spit in besides. A quick glance around told me it was a slow night at the Mermaid. The only other patrons were two burly and tattooed sailors speaking the chattering tongue of the Moonshae Isles, and a shifty-eyed sun elf. Seeing him look at me and nod slightly, I found my hand sliding down to my right boot to make sure the knife was still there. Brothels usually didn't allow weapons. Cooling corpses and blood spatters were bad for business, after all, and there was always the risk of one of the whores being killed in the melee. But as someone who knew far too well how to conceal a blade, the knife was a small reassurance.

A good half-dozen girls were milling around. I looked them over thoroughly; no harm in doing so. After all, a patron would be expected to get a good look and assess the merchandise. Some small part of me was aware that I was looking at them like a pack of cows—lively enough, well-fed, well-clothed, and clean—and winced. But I managed to tamp that impulse down. I wasn't going to be able to take them all with me; it drew far too much attention shutting down an entire brothel. And some of joy-girls of the world wouldn't want to leave their job anyhow. So long as they appeared well enough off, about all I could was look for the frailest among them. The weak ones, the ones who needed to get away. If Bree was any good, she was doing exactly the same at the Fleur.

I looked them over, not satisfied to take a snap at any of them. None of them gave me any sense of desperation. They might not have been exactly Ophala's troupe at the Mask in terms of festivity, but they seemed content enough with their lot. And I wasn't ready to take the risk of danger tonight and ruining this whole racket for the future for some wench who wasn't wholehearted about what I had to offer.

I was just about to get up from my seat, mutter something to the doorman, and get going for the next brothel down the street. I wouldn't cause any trouble by it. Some men just wanted a woman to fuck. Some men were more particular about the package the female came in. It wasn't all too unusual for a choosier type to leave for another establishment, usually dropping a few coins for the inconvenience, if he didn't see quite what caught his eye.

Then I saw her coming up from the cellar, a too-heavy keg of ale in her arms, stumbling towards the owner keeping the bar. On first glance, it was hard to tell if she was on offer, since all the women were dressed pretty much the same in plain garb. But the cut of her neckline, high over just-budding breasts, told me it wasn't likely—at least, not yet. She was maybe fourteen or fifteen. Not pretty; hair and eyes of a plain wren-brown, though her hair had a nice curl to it, a thin face, and the shape of a woman's figure not present yet in her still-coltish lines.

Her eyes skittered nervously away from mine. As she stumbled past, straining under her burden, I could almost smell her fear. She didn't speak to let the man know she was there. I had the impression she wanted to drop the keg and melt away to a safe corner as quickly as she could, like a wraith. An all too familiar feeling—I'd known it enough in my years with the army. To be noticed was to invite all sorts of shit to rain down on you.

And that second, I made the choice. I'd been made to study the nature of people long enough during my training with Hassileah. Whether she'd already been sold to men or not, she wasn't the sort who would last. I didn't even sense the spark in her for the tendency to go out in a blaze of foolish courage by knifing a patron some night. She wasn't that tough yet, and maybe she never would be. This was likely the sort who would retreat inward and become a listless shell—or she'd hang herself in her pathetic excuse for a bedroom some night.

I got up, kicked the chair more or less back into place with a screech against the wood planks, and headed to the bar. I nodded to the man there. Didn't bother asking if he made the arrangements; it was obvious. "How much for her?" I gestured towards the little wren wrestling the keg onto the bar. He made no effort to help her in the task. I didn't either. I was no gentleman to begin, and especially not when it would break my cover.

He looked at me, cleaning a mug, his expression giving nothing away. "You want her?"

I shrugged, equally blank in return. "She looks fresh enough." And just like that, like holding up a mask, I slipped into the role. Playing parts was something I'd learned to a nicety—hadn't I deceived my own sister for the better part of two years?

"Well, she's not spoken for." I saw the spark of greed come in his eyes.

"How much?" I asked, leaning forward and giving him just the slightest air of menace, warning him I wasn't a man to be gulled.

He hesitated. "Fifty krakens." Well, someone had a high and mighty opinion of himself. I had a hundred fifty on me right now—if he wanted fifty gold krakens for the night, I certainly wasn't going to get her outright.

I snorted derisively. "Don't kid me. I could get a night uptown at the Black Swan for fifty and get a woman I'd enjoy looking at while I fuck her. This one's ordinary as a swamp beet."

"She's virgin," he said defensively, raising a meaty finger in protest.

"Then I'll break her in and make her useful to you. Twenty, and that's generous."

He stared at me a long moment, saw I wasn't going to waver. "Twenty-five." He made it a question rather than a demand.

"Done." I fished out the coins, dropping them on the scarred wood of the bar with a ringing _plink_. I looked over my shoulder and saw that she'd scurried off already.

The pimp noticed as well and bellowed, "Kilah! Gi' your useless brat out here!" One of the whores started from where she was talking to the sailors, and jerked her head up.

"What for, Ferde?" Unlike the girl, she was a comely woman, with a fine figure, golden curls tumbling halfway down her back, and a pair of dusky blue-purple eyes that were now narrowed in suspicion. "You've got t'ale."

"This fella's bought her for the night," Ferde said, jerking a thumb towards me.

She stared at me, and for a split second, I felt the full force of her hatred. I'd just bought her daughter, and she wanted to kill me for it. The moment passed, and her expression became a blank canvas. She came towards me, chin up. "Why," she said carefully, "d'you want her?"

I smiled easily at her. "The girl's young," I said, letting her feel the full force of the insult, testing her out. It was a blatant hit. To judge, she was only about my age or a few years older. And though her kind usually aged faster, she still looked pretty good.

She smiled back tautly, refusing to jump. "An' Daicy knows nothin' for it. Take me instead. I know what I'm about."

I had to admit I felt something like respect for her just then. She was pretty much cornered. She could try to kill me and end up dead herself—if not by someone's blade here, then at the next Carnival. She could beg and plead pathetically, and watch all of us men laugh. She chose the only weapon she had: risk sacrificing herself and in doing so, distract me from her kid. I'd seen animals in the wild do the same now and then.

I didn't give her any quarter. "To be worth twenty-five krakens, you'd have to be the best fuck on Silk Street."

"I can be," she challenged me, still putting on the brave face. Well, it looked like the mother had the fire and the hard edge the girl lacked. "Anythin' you want from me, I'll do." Gods, she was serious. She'd give herself over to any humiliation I could possibly come up with to buy her daughter just one more night without a man thrusting and grunting over her. It was utterly futile, of course—there'd come a time someone would insist on having Daicy—but strangely impressive for all that. In spite of myself, I liked her for it.

Just that quickly, I tossed the bulk of Brienne's precious plan out the window and started on my own trail. I forced out a callous laugh, looking her up and down slowly. "This is a diverting little evening we have going here. What's her rate?" I asked Ferde.

"Three," he said, giving me a curious look.

"Tell you what, Ferde," I said, leaning an elbow on the bar. "You've got twenty-five from me. I'm going to give…Keelin?"

"Kilah," he supplied readily.

"Yeah, fine. Kilah's got twenty minutes to impress me. If so, congratulations—she's made you twenty-two extra for the night."

"And if not?" he asked, looking at me suspiciously, probably wondering if I'd demand my money back.

"Well, then I'll come down here with three krakens for what I owe for her. And I go back upstairs with the girl I paid for in the first place." Kilah gave me another momentary glower of hatred for my troubles. I didn't blame her—what I'd proposed was a truly black scheme, if I'd meant it in earnest. I could humiliate her beyond belief first, and then twist the knife even more by still raping her little girl afterwards.

"Fine," he said with a dismissive wave, going back to working the bung out of the cask of ale. The fact that he didn't even bother to look mildly appalled made me want to bury my knife in his gut, and I felt my hand clenching into a white-knuckled fist. I forced myself to turn away, looking towards Kilah.

"Well, sweetheart," I drawled, gesturing towards the staircase, "shall we?" She led the way in silence, up the creaking steps to the dark hallway with its tiny rooms. I closed the door behind us. She wasted no time, her mind probably frantically aware of every ticking second of those twenty minutes. By the time I'd turned back, she had her bodice shrugged off, her bare breasts pale in the shadowed bedroom, and was working on the buttons of her skirt.

"Stop it." It came out harsher than I'd intended, but the sight of a comely half-naked woman automatically made me respond more than I'd have liked. "Get your clothes back on, for the gods' sakes." If she didn't, I might well be too damn tempted to waste that twenty minutes attending to the problem rather than keeping focus on the operation.

She stopped, staring at me, arms falling to her sides. "What t'hells are you playin' at?" she hissed between her teeth, a defiant snarl in her voice. "Twenty minutes, I've got, an' damned if you're goin' to delay me just to better your odds."

"I don't want to lie with you," I snapped back, half-turning away from the sight of her. "You've got twenty minutes, all right…to pack your things, and hers. Then I go downstairs and get your kid. We sneak out the window. I've got a friend who'll be waiting in the alley."

"What?" At least she was getting her bodice back on, but she whispered it gutturally, like a gut-wrenching sound from someone who could barely comprehend what she'd just heard.

"Are you stupid? I'm here to get you and your daughter out of this brothel, out of Luskan. That _is _what you want, isn't it? Or do you want to stick around until someone comes to buy her for real?" I'd decided back downstairs that while I'd take the girl because she needed to get out, a woman with guts like this was worth dragging along. The kid would need her out in the world, and she could handle it. She was a survivor. Our kind always recognized each other.

She gave a soft little moan, and buried her face in her hands. "Thanks be to Tymora," she murmured reverently. "I've been savin' these years to buy out our contracts, but whores don't see much o' the money, an' Daicy just kept growin'…"

"And you were afraid that you'd never earn enough before the fat bastard downstairs sold off her maidenhead, yeah, yeah, I get it." I cut her off. For all the fact that I could have been spinning lies just to toy with her before gleefully breaking her down, she gave in surprisingly easy and believed me. She must have carried some secret pocket of hope all those years. "Get packing."

Packing was pathetically easy for her; less than ten minutes passed before she had her few things, and the girl's, all bundled up and ready to go. Seeing the ragged pallet in the corner, I didn't bother asking if Daicy slept here while her mother was working or if she found somewhere else. Some things brought back black memories of my own childhood. I was the village slut's get, and now I was busy rescuing whores. My life was just coated in irony lately.

I glanced out the window. The angle was bad, but I didn't see Brienne down yet in our agreed-on meeting place. I was going to have to make it fast in my case; if I was caught sneaking out the window with these two, I'd have a lot of explaining to do. The paladin was probably going to chew my ear off about unnecessary risk, stupid bravado, and the like. Oh well.

"Stay here," I ordered here, making sure my tone got across that I wasn't taking any argument. She gave a helpless half-shrug, fingers twisting in the fabric of her bundle, and nodded.

I tossed her my cloak on the way out the door. Moving down the hallway, it took about ten seconds to pull my shirt tails out and quickly crease the fabric between my fingers a little bit, and tousle my hair. I wouldn't reek of sex, but I doubted anyone would be checking my ruse _that _closely.

Halfway down the stairs, I leaned on the railing and caught Ferde's eye, lifting my eyebrows and smirking. Clear enough message in my expression: _Nice try on your wench's part, but not enough. _Ferde grimaced, and it was pretty clear he'd expected this outcome to my game; he had my quarry waiting. Daicy was sitting on a stool by the bar, head glumly bowed and probably lost in her own world. He gave her a rough shove on the arm to get her attention, and pointed at me. I couldn't hear what he was saying over the drunken chorus from the Moonshae sailors, but I could guess the content well enough. I tossed five more coins to another wench milling below me, and pointed her over to him; payment rendered for Kilah.

For all her startled fawn attitude earlier, now that she was actually trapped into it, the girl managed to surprise me a bit. She moved through the tavern area towards me with an odd, unhurried dignity that would have put the overstuffed biddies in the Luskan court, or any other, to shame. When she came up the stairs behind me, I saw the calm resolve in her eyes. Not the glazed languor of opherim, either; just the look that told me that whatever she expected to happen to her body, she'd steeled her mind to it. It reminded me a bit of the look Lianna had gotten a time or two when we'd gone up against bad odds. Maybe this one had a bit of the enduring spark in her after all.

She wasn't so far gone that she didn't immediately notice something bizarre about the scene in her room once we were inside. Her mother was still there, after all.

"What's this about?" she asked me, instinctively drawing back towards the door.

Kilah thrust my cloak back at me, and drew her daughter close, gathering her in her arms. "Listen to me," she said fiercely. "This fella says he's gettin' us out. Tonight."

Like the mother, the girl didn't waste time with useless questions. And thank Ilmater, neither of them sniveled and whined about the danger of climbing out a second floor window and trying to shinny down the drainpipe to the street below. Actually, to be honest, they managed it better than me. My hands seized up in the cold, and I was reluctantly forced to admit I wasn't as young and agile as I was when I trained in this kind of stealth. If I was going to make this shit a habit, I figured I'd best start concealing some rope on me.

My feet hit the cobbles with no grace just as Bree came bustling up, shepherding three of her own charges. I'd closed the window behind us to help cover our tracks, but I knew she must have seen me climbing down. But at least she didn't ask; maybe she saw the urgency of getting on the move. The amount of gold I'd dumped on Ferde would probably buy me most of the night before he decided my time was up, but I was taking no chances. The moment he came to kick me out and saw that I wasn't there, and neither were the women, the hunt would begin.

"Give me the gold you've got left for buying out more girls," I said, finally fastening my cloak pin again. I kept my voice low so our little entourage didn't hear. "One of us should be ready to get out of here with these, just in case."

She didn't argue that point, and didn't protest that she should be the one trying to make the deals in the brothels. "You'll likely have easier success than me," she actually admitted, pressing the heavy money pouch in my hand. "But for Tyr's sake, Bishop, don't be so _risky _about it if you can help it."

"He wasn't going to let me buy 'em outright. Delusions of untold riches, you know."

She seemed to understand that well enough, and surprisingly enough, didn't chew my ear on the matter further. "Did you have to leave anyone behind?" she asked quietly, one eye on the girls milling around us nervously. "I only ask since we can't go back to that place again without attracting notice."

"No." I was certain enough of that.

"All right. I'll take them to the Camperdown," she named a livery close to the Hammerhead Gate, "and hire a wagon. How long?"

"Three hours." That would get towards the coming of the grey hours of false dawn, and I wanted to be heading out the gate before sunup. As corrupt as Luskan was, they didn't like making some of the rot too obvious. So the scummier trades usually scurried into hiding at daylight, like cockroaches. We'd attract too much notice with our wagonload of "slaves" unless we made it out before dawn. Three hours would give me enough time to check a few places and hopefully get another girl or two. Six or seven in our wagon would be enough; many more than that and we'd start looking suspicious as a slave caravan.

I didn't bother saying that if I didn't make it to our meeting place, she should make out of the city like the nine hells were after her. No point to doing so. If she had sense, she knew that already and would do it. And if she was going to get all paladin and come try to rescue me, my telling her she shouldn't going to do a damn thing to dissuade her.

Daicy put a hand on my arm as I turned to go. This time I noticed that unlike her gawky, too-childish body, her voice was beautiful, even with the harsh sounds of a Luskanite. "Helm sent you to us?" she asked with something almost like reverence.

Somehow I managed to suppress the urge to tell her that I had absolutely _nothing _to do with the likes of that grim prig. I could see where she guessed it, though, seeing as how he claimed to be the god of guardians and the like. But then, Helm had done nothing for Neverwinter back in the day when people claiming to be his own followers made the city bleed from the inside out. "I come from Ilmater." An easier thing to swallow than: _I'm here because my bloody goodbrother, who's a Tyrran paladin, saved my arse from my sister executing me by assigning me to come on a rescue mission here. It's a long story; makes for the sort of shit that'll give most kids nightmares, but I suppose you've probably seen worse._

She nodded and hurried after Brienne, hitching up the hem of her over-long cloak as she went. Watching the party of a half-dozen women make their way, keeping to the darkness, I sighed. It hadn't really struck me until just then that I was going to be absolutely surrounded by females. Gods save me.

Twenty minutes later I found myself trapped in the receiving room of the Leopard and Lion. No downtrodden little mollies in _this _place needing rescue. That was for damn sure. And I'd thought that Waterdhavian women were shameless. I could see now why Sharessin brothels were known as "cathouses": the whores kept sacred cats as company, and each of them, humans and cats alike, was shameless.

"Would you like your shoulders rubbed?" one of them chirped helpfully, hovering over me as I sat on the soft, comfortable couch surrounded by bloody damn cats.

"I'm fine," I said between gritted teeth. "Ladies, sorry, but I think I'm in the wrong pl—"

"You would prefer company of another sort?" The tiny, black-haired woman who was apparently the head priestess stroked the back of one of the cats and gave me a cheerful smile. "We have Carridel and Sander as our brethren…"

I wasn't even going to grace that offer with the response it deserved, I decided. I'd probably end up in enraged incoherence. "Ah, see, thing is," I said, trying to keep some scrap of dignity while fiercely protecting the laces of my trousers from potential attack, "not my sort. And I must have gotten lost. I was looking for the Stinking Bishop?" I named one of the more raucous and infamous local taverns. And wasn't I _so _amused to have my name hooked up with a descriptor like that. Not bad enough that it was a holy title in some faiths already; my mother must have not been thinking when she named me. "Read about it in Volo's Guide, you know."

I got a chorus of gently amused laughter for my trouble. "We have better drink and better company than you'd find there," a pretty green-eyed brunette coaxed me. Her hair and eyes made me think of Lianna, which brought back too many thoughts of the brown-haired whores I'd been with in Neverwinter trying to forget her. I didn't know how many, but probably about a dozen: I might never be able to go to a brothel back home again. But still, thinking of my sister in conjunction with prostitutes? Well, that killed the arousal that had been helplessly stirred up by these sensual creatures, all right. Maybe it would keep it throttled down the rest of the night. If that didn't work I could always ponder the fact that Casavir actually had sex…if I didn't mind a potential urge to damage my own brain afterwards.

Well, their faith may have been all about gratification and pleasure—damn, really, maybe I'd picked the wrong deity. But they weren't without restraint about it. They listened respectfully enough to my sputtering protests and let me go, though the priestess laid a teasing kiss on my cheek on the way out. "Good even," she said, as I heard a chorus of giggles from inside, "and may the bliss of Sharess be yours."

Maybe I needed to look up the Sharessin festhall in Neverwinter. It was in Blacklake, and gods knew I avoided that area. But they seemed like a spirited, cheerful lot who liked their pleasures and asked no questions. Shaking that thought off, I turned back to the job as I headed for the next place.

The Eclipse turned out to be a good pick: a pricier place than the Mermaid, but with none of the Leopard's joviality. It took me only a few minutes of sounding out the brothers running the establishment, and studying a few of their "doves" to get the lay of things. Most of their business was the mundane sort. And they didn't cater to those who actually needed the giving or receiving of pain; those houses tended to be run by Loviatorian professionals. But for someone looking for a small, amateur taste of the experience and willing to drop a few more coins, they'd open the tool cabinet. Soft buckskin floggers, wooden paddles, blindfolds, restraints—none of the whips and blades Hassileah had used on me, of course. After all, as the owners told me, they didn't want permanent marks. It reduced the value of the girls and boys on offer.

I managed to get out of there without permanently marking the two of them with red smiles on their throats, and one of their girls tagging along in my footsteps. I saw as we hurried by the Mermaid that the lights were still out up in Kilah's room—good. The girl didn't say anything to me the entire way to the Hammerhead Gate. But I knew her chances were good outside the city. The straight black hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes told me that she was Uthgardt.

The barbarians were a tough lot. Her kind weren't made to be cooped up in city walls, let alone sold like this. A few questions here and there earlier in the day, and I'd found out the gossip about that young Uthgardt woman in the square. She'd been a new addition to a fancy brothel uptown. I imagined she'd probably captured on a raid from her tribe. And she'd coolly locked the door of her bedroom, and cut out the heart of her first patron before he could touch her. They might have dressed her in satin and lace to put her on offer, but I had the feeling her enemy's blood had suited her far better as adornment. No wonder she'd died proud and silent today.

This one was younger, maybe eighteen. The fact that she didn't have a woman's tribal tattoos on the back of her hands and the exposed parts of her chest meant she'd probably been stolen as a child. Luskan did so love to catch their slaves young. But even as she played the part of the tame dog, I could see the wolf restlessness in her eyes. The day would come when the wildness in her was going to win out over the fear and submissiveness that she'd been trained to. She'd end up bound to that table at Carnival herself someday for spilling blood. So I decided she was coming with me instead.

There had been another one that I might have taken if those two parasites hadn't bled me dry to buy out this one "precious gem". I left the boy there with a bit of reluctance, but I judged that he was on the cusp of things. He might well be all right on his own. If not, he seemed strong enough to last until we came back.

We made our way to the Camperdown just as the sky was starting to turn that gloomy grey. Bree, as good as her word—such a paladin—was waiting with my gelding hitched to a small wagon, and Eluthje was saddled and ready. She gave me a positively evil smile. "Since you hate riding, you can drive."

"Thanks, pretty p—" I stopped myself from saying the word within earshot of the natives. Giving her an equal smirk, I amended that to, "My pretty pet."

She gave me a basilisk's look, which I ignored. "This is Aorine." I nodded to the girl, who was looking at the wagon of five other women somewhat suspiciously. I'd briefly told Aorine that we were getting her out of the city on the way, but I hadn't gone into detail.

"Jhoss, Shau'rei, and Aliya." She nodded towards her three—a little blonde, a dusky-skinned Calimshani, and a girl with autumn-leaf copper hair. "Then let's load up and get going." I'd tell her about the boy at the Eclipse later, when hostile ears weren't listening in. Aorine climbed into the back of the wagon and settled down beside Shau'rei, the Calimshani.

Sitting on the seat of the wagon and reaching for the reins, I glanced back at the six of them. Kilah looked suddenly nervous, Aorine was carefully neutral, and Daicy was looking at me with something resembling worship—gods. The other three looked lost in thought.

The guards at the gate didn't give us much trouble. A few of our meager remaining coins, me spinning a story about heading south with our six, implying that we were in trade, and the thing was done.

I called to Karnwyr once we were outside the city, and after a few hours for him to come in range, he heard and bounded up joyfully to join us. "Furface," I said by way of greeting, "been keeping out of trouble?" I hadn't wanted to bring him in the city. He gave me a grin, tongue lolling between his teeth, and made a few smart remarks about my bevy of females.

We'd talked about taking them to Port Llast, but that idea was quickly discarded. The town was too close to Luskan lands for comfort, and besides, six refugees would disappear much more easily into a large city without wagging tongues. So, the plan was to take them south to Neverwinter—which would be a good six days at our slow pace, dictated by the wagon. Gods help us if they were sending mounted soldiers after us.

That first night, finishing off the remains of some chickens we'd bought off a farmer, I glanced over at our quietly sleeping pack of females around the fire. "Peaceful lot."

"Having a night's rest where you know you won't have to endure intimacies with a stranger lends itself to that," she said ruefully.

I rolled my eyes, tugging another shred of meat off the bone and popping it in my mouth. Could use more salt, I decided. "I'm a man. They're not worried about me?" They could stand to be a bit more cautious about things in general.

She looked up at me, dark eyes luminous in the firelight. "They trust you. You helped saved them."

"Yeah, well…" I didn't know exactly what to say to that. I wasn't the sort who inspired trust. Searching for a quick change of subject, I got one. Get her talking about her favorite paladin, and I'd fall right asleep. "So, how long have you known Casavir, huh?"

Her brow rose abruptly. "Oh, well." She poked the fire idly with a stick, stirring up the dying embers. "I've known him since he was a boy," she admitted finally.

History there, I could tell, and a history she was reluctant to talk about. I remembered her saying she'd gone to Neverwinter at sixteen. She looked like a human of thirty, so she was probably around thirty-five. If they'd met then, he'd have been something like ten or eleven. And she'd left after the siege, when he was seventeen or so. Significant years; the ones where a boy started to grow into a man, started to notice women…

"Where did you stay when you were in Neverwinter?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

She looked a little puzzled. "Ophala of the Moonstone Mask took some pity on me. She had…sympathy for people fleeing Luskan. Why do you ask?"

I looked at her a little more purposefully. I'd heard the rumors about him and Ophala, of course, some of which assumed the wrong female. There was no way in the hells the utterly dignified Casavir Erelissohn would make a fool of himself for Ophala Celderstorn, a woman twenty years older, and a bawdy-house madam to boot. But maybe they'd just jumbled information together based on a prior tryst. After all, Brienne had been a girl working in a festhall under Ophala's care. She'd been only two streets over from the Halls of Justice, and she was fond of Casavir, had seen him turn from a boy into a young man, and obviously had a few sore spots now about their relationship.

The likely scenario was pretty obvious. I wondered if he'd told Lianna about Brienne when he'd come clean about being Ophala Dathalien's lover. I could have asked outright, forced her to admit it. She couldn't lie, after all. I could gain that power over her; and over Casavir as well. But for some reason I didn't leap at the chance.

"You've got the watch?" My words came out harsher than I'd intended, but she didn't seem to notice, waving me off with a small nod.

As I tried to get to sleep, Karnwyr wheezed peacefully beside me and I watched her stare into the heart of the flames, lost in thought. Rolling over and turning away from her to look into the darkness of the forest, I admitted that it troubled me _why _I hadn't pressed that weakness.


	19. Into the Wild

_**Bishop**_

_Marpenoth 18, 1386_

We drove over the Dolphin Bridge at midday, the spires of the towers glistening familiar in the sunlight—the Cloaktower, the Temple of Knowledge, Castle Never. I couldn't help but feel some kind of relief as the gelding slowed to a tired plod around the people on foot. After the rot and stink of Luskan, entering Neverwinter felt like a breath of clean wind.

The wagon started juddering over the breaks of the cobbles, although it wasn't half as bad as the jolt of some rough roads we'd endured the past days. I heard the faint sound of the women stirring and waking behind me, sensing the change in the ride. Brienne glanced over at me and gave me a smile, and I could see her excitement at making it safely in how she must have urged Eluthje to pick up the pace a bit. The grey mare was showing us her hind hooves quickly enough, trotting briskly and helping clear the way. We got a few curious glances for our trouble, but nobody stopped to challenge us. As well; I was too well aware that opinion of me in Neverwinter probably still wasn't the best, for those who could put a name to my face. So far as they knew, I had abandoned their darling, their heroine, in her hour of need at Crossroads Keep and ran to save my own hide—at least they didn't know the full truth.

We drove down Dyer Lane; it led to the now-familiar conjunction that was the home for the Triad faith in Neverwinter. A temple to each of the three gods stood in a rough triangle around Triad Court. Tyr's temple stood to the northeast, Ilmater to the northwest, and Torm to the south. By all indications, the heads of the three faiths were in thick with each other here out of longstanding friendship and familiarity. Janneth certainly mentioned the two of them casually enough. I still hadn't met Freija Wolfsgar; wasn't in a hurry to, either.

When I considered it, only natural that we should bring our human cargo to the temple of Ilmater. I already knew from my stay there that the infirmary doubled as a sort of temporary charity ward when needed; Ilmater was the sort of god who didn't look down on the dregs of society. So the destitute and desperate tended to come to his temple—I would know, after all. The six of them would be safe there until they got things sorted out.

I studied them as they jumped off the wagon at the House of Healing. They didn't talk so easily around me, much as Brienne had said they trusted me as their rescuer. Just some kind of women things that I wasn't going to be admitted to; those they confided in Bree. I'd heard them talking around the fire and found myself listening to their stories, searching for and finding an echo of my own black memories in their soft-spoken misery. We were a group who each understood what it was to be soul-stained by Luskan's grasping tentacles.

In six days, through those stolen snatches of overheard conversation and my own observations, I'd come to know a great deal about each of them.

Aorine wanted to go home to her tribe, though she worried that since she'd lain with _faradhi, _outsiders, she might not be accepted back. Even though she'd been forced, some of the Uthgardt could be touchy about their honor, and that of their women. If that happened, the clans of the Iron Shore might well take her in; they were a prickly, half-wild lot that also kept to their own. From what I heard, that was probably because they had a fair amount of Uthgardt ancestors themselves.

Shau'rei had no desire to go back to the burning sands of Calimshan and the older brother who had sold her into slavery to pay his gaming debt. Didn't blame her; they could be real vipers down south when it came to trading people like they were just cattle. She sounded wistful for a warmer climate than Luskan, though, considering where she'd grown up. Neverwinter might well suit her there with its mild winters, and its love of craftsmen would help since she'd mentioned some hopes about using skills as a carpetmaker to forge a trade. I'd seen a Calimshani carpet once, full of feathers and vines and other designs in bold colors. If she could make anything like that, she'd do well for herself.

Aliya was from here in Neverwinter, stolen away during the siege thirteen years ago. I tried not to think how she must have suffered on the march north. After that, the brothel might have seemed pleasant, in a perverse way. At least she had a bed for doing the deed in, got a few coins now and again to call her own, and only had to please a few men a night; compared to being raped on the cold, hard ground by a dozen coarsened soldiers or more. Not enough to tame her, though: after she'd tried to escape twice, they'd hobbled her by cutting the back of her right calf just above the ankle down to the bone. Even crippled and after so many years, she talked about seeing her mother and sisters again almost non-stop. I didn't have the heart to tell her to keep quiet about it.

Jhoss made it clear that she was headed for her family's dairy farm near Cormyr straightaway. She'd been in the Fleur only about a tenday—not long enough to learn the airs of a classier good-time girl. It might not have meshed well with the naturally more guttural tones of the Dalelands anyhow, though her sweet blond looks would have made up for a lot. The owner, Bree told me, had intended on keeping her around and training her mannerisms up in order to sell off her virgin-price in a few months, but had jumped at the chance to dump an uncertain prospect at a profit.

Kilah and Daicy—aye, well, they seemed the most uncertain. From what I gathered, Kilah's mother had likewise been a whore, and for all I knew, her grandmother and further back. It was all she knew how to do, and she didn't have objections to resuming the trade herself, so long as Daicy was able to do otherwise. She was a handsome enough woman; if she cleaned up her Luskan cant, I could see her working in one of the local festhalls as an entertainer to support the two of them. Daicy had been heavily struck by the two of us so it seemed—she'd asked Bree about training to become a warrior, asked me about the Ilmaterians. She'd gotten more for her pains from Brienne; I'd just told her gruffly to talk to Janneth when we got to Neverwinter. I wasn't exactly qualified to talk about the faith, and I wasn't going to be responsible for putting delusions of grandeur and heroism in the kid's head. I actually liked her too much to do that.

Brienne…still a mystery, though. She'd told them a little of her own past. How could she not, when she'd suffered the same fate as all of them? Secretly, though, I thought she'd caught the worst of it. None of them mentioned their first man being forced on them when they were a mere child. I had to admit her tale gave me some hope for this flock. I didn't like paladins—never would—however, what she'd made of herself was impressive. But apart from her harshest years, she was an enigmatic blank to me. She didn't mention a thing about the nine years since Mephistopheles had attacked Waterdeep, beyond the obvious fact she'd dedicated herself to Tyr as a paladin.

To his credit, the Revered Brother himself showed some sensibilities. He sent one of the Sisters of the temple, Branwen, to show the women in and get them settled. I made them uneasy enough; the company of their fellow females would set them at greater ease than the men of the temple would.

Not that there was much to settle, of course. All of them clutched their sorry kerchief bundles with maybe a clean skirt and undertrewes, perhaps a few sad trinkets of that life _before_. Luskan…that had just been a period of not-being, of pure endurance, of forlorn dreams of an _after _that a person could barely dare whisper into the forgiving solitude of the night. But these were the lucky ones. They had kept things straight in their heads, managed to not give in and come to believe that the way they were was the way of it all. They remembered their pasts, and they kept hope for the future, clearly, since all of them had leapt at the chance to get away.

That aftermath was here now, and as I watched them disappear into the quiet of the temple under Branwen's quiet ministrations, I found myself hoping that the future would be generous. Equal measure for their sufferings, at least—justice of a sorts. At that thought, and the automatic association with Tyr, I turned back to Brienne, watching our little flock go with a soft expression. When she saw me looking, she nodded, her features rearranging back into her usual look of all business. "We should get the horses stabled, and then I should speak with Reverend Justiciar Oleff. See if there are any messages for me from my brethren in Waterdeep."

"Guess I'd better check in with my keeper too," I said, trying to keep the irony in that title understated. Technically, I was in Casavir's charge, not Janneth Sandower's, until he allowed that I'd done my bit and paid my dues. Oh well. At least I was pretty sure he wasn't going to gloat about it—he wasn't the type.

We got the horses seen to at the Bell and Star, and I was almost sad to see the gelding go. We'd struck up a rapport of sorts on the trip, to the point where I'd finally tried to talk to him some on the way back. He had a biting sense of humor that I enjoyed. Hells, why not—between Karnwyr and me, he was the only other male along, even if he'd lost some important bits in his years. "Take care of yourself, all right?" I said, giving him a surreptitious pat on the shoulder.

She sneaked up behind me—_gods_, the woman was alarming as hell—and startled me by speaking up. "He's yours, didn't you know? He doesn't belong to the folks here any longer."

"What?"

"Your goodbrother," she said, and it seemed like she was deliberately avoiding his name, "told me to get you a horse for the journey, as you'd need one. He sent some coin for the purpose along with his message to me. I suppose he's yours now to keep or sell as you see fit." Even more in Casavir's debt now, looked like—what a slippery slope I was on.

"You picked well," not begrudging her the admission. "I don't hold much with horses, but he's a good one."

"Paladins know their mounts rather well," she said quite cheerfully.

Oh, in bygone days, I'd have been all over _that _comment and the multiple responses it brought to mind, most of them deliberately crude. Likely it was the fact that I'd managed to avoid being raped by Luskan men when I was a child. She hadn't been so lucky. I couldn't even imagine how many men there might have been in the five years before she got away. Maybe I didn't want to. In any case, it was probably still a raw point with her, the kind of wound that even a simple touch causes a flinch of pain.

"Yeah. Thanks." I glanced back at the horse. "Guess I'll have to name him now." The only thing I'd ever named in my years was Karnwyr, my friend, my companion. Giving him a name meant accepting he was sticking with me. Well, when I thought about it, we misfits had to stick together.

Brienne and I walked back to Dyer Lane; I liked that she was one of those females who didn't get it in their head that they had to chatter like a magpie every waking moment. She could hold her silence, and she did on the way.

She headed for Tyr's temple, and I made my way down the road to Ilmater's. I didn't see the women there; like as not they were being tended to with a bath and some clean clothes. When I thought about it, I could desperately use a wash and a shave myself. I wasn't the sort who needed to go running around stinking of cologne, of course. Sweat and woodsmoke was a good honest smell—just not a tenday's worth. Still, wouldn't be polite to invade the baths just now, right? I grinned a little at the thought of inflicting myself on the Revered Brother in this state. He was a tough nut all right, but maybe something simple as a sensitive nose might do for him in the end.

I knocked on the door of his office, and saw him there reading. He glanced up and I thought I saw a faint smile on his face. I gave him a winning smile in return. "Miss me, Sandower?"

He raised a badger-grey brow. "I'd settle for 'Brother', even." There was a faint note of warning in his voice. Yeah, I got the message. I'd gotten away with irreverence before. And I doubted he expected me to bleat and bow. But I'd have to be at least a little polite now that I was solidly inducted into the flock.

"Brother Janneth," I said as sweetly as I could. Soon enough I was seated in that old familiar chair in his office. "Sorry about the appearance," I added, "but I figured it wouldn't do to walk in on the women trying to clean up, eh?"

I got nothing for my pains. "I've smelt gangrene and tenday-old pus in my day," he riposted equally chipper in tone, "so a little sweat and dirt is acceptable, young man, particularly considering how you earned them."

"You didn't want details," I reminded him, settling myself down into the comfort of the seat and crossing my boots at the ankles, making myself at home, "so I don't imagine you know exactly what I've been up to."

"I can guess well enough. You arrive in the company of seven young ladies," I noticed he used the gracious term. "One a Tyrran paladin, and six who informed me that until recently they were in Luskan."

"They were whores in Luskan," I said, giving the harsh word its full measure. "Well, all right, not Daicy and Jhoss—not just yet. But close enough." The fact that the seventh had been as well wasn't a fact I cared to share with him.

He absorbed that with his usual composure. "Then you rescued them from a life filled with pain and suffering. And Ilmater favors you for that act of mercy and courage."

"Don't think I did it from selflessness," I shot back. "I was there because that damn paladin—Casavir, since now I've picked up another Tyrran paladin—_made_ me go. Do you think I'd be running in rescuing people from Luskan otherwise?"

"Would you?"

I stared at him, feeling hurt and anger and irritation boiling inside of me. He always knew exactly how to hit to prick right through my airs and defenses with one casual little jab, a few well-chosen words. "Maybe," I gave that only grudgingly. "But I'm no hero."

"Those women certainly think you are. You risked your life for theirs, and I'm not convinced some part of you doesn't find satisfaction in taking people away from a place where you suffered so badly as a boy."

"Don't start mistaking me for Casavir," I snapped. "I'm no paladin. Damn fool like him, he'd have been pinched in a minute in that city, because he'd have charged in with all that shiny righteousness."

He didn't reply right away, but sat there, studying me with a sort of intense interest, as though I was one of his specimens to dissect for anatomical study. And for being the servant of a merciful god, he was damn pitiless with his words. He always seemed interested seeing what made me tick—if he poked just _there_, laid open that part of me, what would he discover, and how would I react?

The moment passed, and he relaxed. "I once thought as you do," he remarked, leaning back in his chair and folding his big, callused hands across his chest. "In my youth, when I was even younger than you are now, I adventured across the lands with my companions. I was a new cleric of Ilmater, eager to be free from the temple for a time. One of the others was a bard, favored by Millil with wit and charm…a bard named Oleff." He glanced up meaningfully at me from under his brows. "Oleff Uskar."

"Oleff Us…" I stared at him, speechless. That grim, bearded old stick, Nasher's right hand lawman, had been a _bard_? "He's changed a bit," I deliberately understated.

"He was here in the city during the Time of Troubles. The things he saw here led him to Tyr, and from there to Nasher's attention. It was a time where much of the old ways were overturned with the new lord sitting the throne, and many of us equally young folk saw our stars rise high quickly in the years that followed. Oleff was named by Lord Nasher as the city's Reverend Justiciar by the time he was thirty." He smiled wryly. "Oleff has a sharp mind. It let him remember songs and tales then, and writ of law later. I think understanding a bard's propensity for embroidery helps him sniff out falsehood in others now."

"I'm not seeing how this has anything to do with me and Casavir." It wasn't usually like him to get all cryptic and metaphorical—with the Revered Brother, he was usually pretty open about telling you exactly what he thought.

"We also had a rogue with us, by the name of Amanthe, beautiful and full of life. She was my good friend, and I loved her—though I never seemed able to speak of it. And so too did Oleff. I saw how she responded, and I couldn't compare to his charm. The two of us had clashed on differences of opinion before. But now we began to quarrel, bitterly so, over her favor. And then she put an end to it when she agreed to marry him." He said it simply, but I could still see a spark of old hurt in him from it. "I think I hated both of them for a while in my pain. I left because I couldn't bear to see them together."

"I'm familiar with the feeling," I said wryly. Well, all right, I'd thrown over leaving in favor of making them both hurt in the worst way possible. But that unbearable searing in your chest at every thought and every sight of them together—aye, I knew what he meant.

"Just so," he agreed. "Two years later, we met again when I came to this temple. And I found that the better times we three had shared were sweeter than my disappointment. I stopped trying to measure myself against him as a standard, because it dawned on me that I was the only one seriously doing so." He leaned forward a bit, piercing me with his gaze. "You size yourself up against him and see only that you are not, in fact, him. And so you mock him every chance you get to assuage that feeling. Stop trying to be Casavir."

"Oh, why not, when he's the solid-gold idol of goodness and charity? Hells, even you get all aflutter when you talk about him."

He smiled thinly, and the expression cut like a razor. "You're merely proving my point, young man."

"And your helpful suggestion is…?"

"Realize that whatever the past, you're not rivals for her affection. You each have a place made in her life." He shrugged. "Accept that he's her husband, you're her brother, and that no amount of bickering between you will change those facts. But their relationship has places you can't follow. So you make your own path. I have the life I do because in time, I realized that I was defined by more than Oleff and Amanthe. Once I found other things, good things, then I began to move beyond the conflict within me."

"And I'm sure you're very happy for them now," I said, trying to keep sarcasm from lacing my voice. Somehow, I succeeded at it, and I allowed myself a little bit of self-congratulation. The man was like a hound in sniffing out those small nuances and wringing them for all they were worth.

He raised an eyebrow. "I found happiness in time with Thali, even though she's gone. Amanthe and I—well, I think of her now as a sister. That suits better than she would have as a lover. And Oleff and I have become good friends in the years since then, both personally and in the course of our mutual work."

"Well, then I'll just plan for Casavir and I to become best friends someday. Sorry, but I don't think he'll go out for a mug of ale with me without checking it for poison first."

He smiled, as ever unperturbed by my snide remark. I couldn't help but notice that as much as he played up Oleff Uskar's looks, he'd probably been a handsome man in his youth. Must have been that grim holiness that the rogue had found upsetting—and all right, I'd admit that bards were hard to compete with. They never seemed to lack a free bed partner if they wanted one. "You may find that an Ilmaterian and a Tyrran make natural allies, as they have much in common, dear boy. Much more than I did with Oleff when he was a Millilian who lived for glory and wine and accolades, or Casavir for you when you were one of the Faithless and a failed assassin."

"That'll happen when all nine of the hells freeze over, I think. He hates me."

"He hates you so that he saved your life, both during the war and then again in the shadow of his own castle."

"Lianna's castle, you mean," I corrected him, pouncing on the chance. "And he saved me because it was his duty. That's all."

"More properly, _their_ castle," he corrected me back in return. "Theirs is a partnership, Bishop, not just a mutual diversion. He won't leave his wife on account of your chivvying and provocation, no matter how hard you try. He always was determined. You can choose to accept him as your ally, or keep trying to make him your enemy. Antagonize him enough and you may succeed, but you'll likely lose your sister as well."

I stared at him, incredulous, feeling myself gripping the arms of the chair like bracing myself against the well-placed daggers of his verbal assault. "You're a bold one, I'll give you that."

"You think one advances through the ranks by having a _lack_ of spine?" he asked with deliberate irony, giving me a look that said he knew that was exactlywhat I'd thought. "Faith—_belief—_is not weakness."

"Depends what you believe in. Too many fanatics and people with empty words out there use it as an excuse."

"Aye," he agreed with a sigh and a sad shake of his grey head, "but in general, it's better to believe in something than nothing. Not just the gods. Try some belief in your own worth, perhaps. The day when you can admit the truth of your actions, both well and ill, will be the day you accept your full power."

"I'm admitting 'em right now," I argued in protest. "I spent a lot of time months ago dragging out all my sins for you to look over, didn't I?"

He gave me that peculiar, knowing smile again. "You can be a good man and still lie to yourself in your own heart. As a matter of fact, Casavir is guilty of that himself at points—you two share that trait, as well as tenacity and courage."

"Thought I wasn't supposed to compare myself to him." He looked over my shoulder and gestured for someone to wait a minute: I half-turned and saw Sister Branwen standing there, regarding the two of us with a look of apparent disinterest. Too casual; of course she'd been listening.

I seized my chance and gave him a grin. "Guess that's my cue. You've got other business to attend to."

"No harm in acknowledging your similarities," he gave me a parting shot, "and your differences as well. That's true with Casavir or anyone else. Think on that. Ilmater bless your path, Bishop, until I see you again."

With that I beat a hasty retreat past Branwen. I gave a nod to the six women, now clad in grey novice's robes and headed for the dining room, and decided that I really did need a bath

As for them, they were probably hungry; hunting had been slim pickings on the way, particularly considering that I couldn't afford to range too far afield because of the risk. By the smell of it, it was probably Brother Dannel's beef-and-leek stew. Red meat would do them all some good. I left them with some reluctance, but they could do without me, and besides, I could do with getting away from Janneth's acid tongue for a while. I wasn't at my sharpest at trading barbs when I was tired and hungry.

I found myself waiting impatiently in the entrance of the Hall of Justice, hoping to catch Brienne once she finished her chat with Oleff. We could stand to hash over the mission, I thought, maybe discuss a future partnership. As much as I'd told Janneth that I'd been there solely because of obligation—which was true—I had to admit, snatching some people out of the jaws of Luskan had been uniquely satisfying. Maybe even more so than my missions in the Docks here in Neverwinter; much as there were some hidden lowlifes here, the scum in Luskan were an entirely different breed.

And yeah, I had to confess, in the protected solace of my own mind, that she didn't make such a bad partner as all that. She pulled her weight, didn't complain or prattle or make a nuisance of herself, and she kept the shiny holiness to a minimum. Besides, she understood me better even on a tenday's acquaintance than most people ever had—we Luskan survivors were few and far between.

_But she really doesn't know you_, that still, small voice murmured inside me. _She thinks you're some poor little boy who was pressed into service. Doesn't know shit about the Circle of Blades, about Redfallows Watch, about the ecgona, about how you left your own __sister__ to die…she knows only a few pieces you want her to._ And as a paladin, of course she'd condemn me. Didn't really matter that I was trying to leave that all behind me and change, now did it?

That was the trouble with the voice of conscience. You couldn't tell it to step off, and you couldn't leave it in the dust. "Never mind it," I muttered, trying to shut the voice up. Kicking at a stone in the wall and chipping off a chunk of loose mortar for my trouble, "she doesn't need to know everything. I'll watch her back, she's got mine. It's just fucking _business_, not my life story."

"Sorry, what?" She came out the gate then, as though my words had conjured her like some Calimshani djhinn. I noticed that she'd cleaned up herself and put on some fresh clothes.

"You want to get some food?" I asked, jerking my head back towards the peddler's stalls. "I'm starving."

She gave me another of those still, sharp glances, but it dissolved into another of her little smiles. "Certainly, though I thought you might be glad to be quit of my company."

"Yeah, well, I figure we can talk about that." It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her if I'd honestly complained all that much, but I bit back the impulse. Never mind it. She'd bring it up if it was an issue for her; better to not expose myself like that by asking.

We ended up at the Hollybush off Lightning Court; one of the taverns I knew from experience served a decent meal and didn't charge too much for it. She had obviously been here before—probably during her few years at the Mask—because she knew that the eel soup was the house's best dish to order. Well, either that, or she'd been reading Volo's.

"Good meal for a cold day," she said agreeably, dipping her spoon into the rich, thick mess in her bowl. I just nodded in return, busy with my own. "So. You wanted to talk business?"

It galled me a little to have to ask it, but best to just get it over with. "What's your take on me?"

She didn't leave me hanging, which I was grateful for. "No lies?" she said with a tone of good humor. I gave her a gesture to go on. "You can be quite abrasive when the pressure is off. You're prone to be contrary at times just to assert yourself, but I suppose a good argument keeps me sharp. Your woodland skills are valuable, though I think you may be a little overconfident at points." Well, that stung a little, I had to admit. "But on the actual job, I couldn't have asked for more. You took some risks, but justified ones, and you utilized the tools and knowledge you had to their best advantage."

"Ah well, you're not so bad yourself," I allowed. "But hells, you've got a tongue that bites like a khebra." I gave her a bit of a smirk. "Still, it keeps me on my toes to have someone to argue with."

She put down her spoon with a small _clink_ against the wood of the table. "Point being—I don't intend to stop making the run. And if you choose, I'd be glad of the two of us sticking together…insofar as your other contracts permit?"

I shrugged, trying to not make it seem like bragging. "I've made enough gold in my day—especially on campaign with Lianna— that I don't really _need _to take on clients. It's more for the challenge, see." Staved off the boredom and got me the hells out of the city for a while, which was about all I required. "This will keep me busy enough. Your chapterhouse has you on other assignments?" Usually paladins were out for the big show of fighting against evil, not this solitary, stealthy type work. I'd expect her more to be on crusade against a fortress chock-full of Cyricists than sneaking into Luskan to liberate people.

She shook her head, a half-frown on her lips. "Given my past, it seemed fitting to Tyr that I spend my time working against Luskan however I might. And so my ties to the Waterdhavian chapter of the Merciful Sword are somewhat loose. I wasn't raised as one of their pages anyhow. I keep contact often as I can, but my operations are…somewhat autonomous."

"That's what I like to hear," I said cheerfully. "You need some room to breathe when it comes to making decisions, rather than just following orders blindly." Oh yeah, I actually almost _liked _this paladin. If she wasn't a lapdog to some higher-ups in Waterdeep who probably hadn't been in a scrap in twenty years, but had instead claimed her own authority, that was all to the good.

"Then you're agreed to stick with me?" She reached across the table, offering me her small, long-fingered hand to seal the offer.

"Done," I said, shaking her hand on it, turning back to my soup with better cheer. After all, now I actually had some purpose to look forward to, rather than just lazing around the city marking time with ale and boredom until someone needed a scout. With winter howling fast on the heels of Marpenoth, the jobs would have been few and far between anyhow.

The next five days passed like molasses poured out in Hammer, dribbling by in slow, thick drops of time. The city started buzzing with activity to get ready for Nasher's wedding in a few tendays, and in anticipation of her return to the city, Lianna seemed to be on everybody's tongue. I tried to keep a low profile, of course. I had a few drinks in the taverns. I didn't go have a woman, much as I'd thought I'd need to. For now, brothels in general seemed tainted by what I'd seen in Luskan; right now, they were about the most non-arousing thing I could think of, actually. On the bright side, killing off the itch entirely for the time being was easier than suffering and needing to scratch it.

I checked in at the House of Healing and saw that the ladies were settling in nicely enough, their spirits already looking up a little bit. We'd picked well. These were the resilient ones, not the fragile little lilies that got easily crushed underfoot. I actually saw a few of them start to smile and laugh again. It gave me some hope for them, some glimpse of people they'd been and could become again. Those wenches had steel in their souls, all right.

I traded a few more pointed words with Janneth, but he seemed to have said his bits of wisdom for the most part, and instead he started teaching me the game of chyvasse. I found myself considering the bishop a lot, the piece Hassileah had used to give me my guild moniker. It was the name I'd been called by ever since. The piece that sidled up right alongside those in power to whisper in their ears, and whose moves were never straightforward—the perfect assassin. A great advancement from the pawn I'd been as an army slave, but maybe the bishop wasn't my style any longer. I wasn't sure what piece I might claim now, though. Not the knight, that was for damn sure.

On the twenty-fourth, Bree and I met up again for a meal and conversation, this time at the Couer d'Lac. Gods-awful Waterdhavian name, and arrogantly pricey in corresponding fashion, but they made a damn good venison roast. I couldn't name half the spices they threw in it, but it was a tasty piece of meat all right. And I had to admit I rather enjoyed my terribly common blood invading Blacklake for a few hours and horrifying the local snobs. My gold was good enough to shut them up for a while. "I'm thinking about getting out of here," I said without any preamble.

She gave a soft snort of amusement, cutting into a roasted potato with her fork. "Blacklake, you mean? Gods, I hope so."

I gave her a conspirator's grin over the table. "Come on. It's fun to provoke the local wildlife. Waterdeep's got to be twice as bad. Even the commons there are snooty. But I meant getting out of the city."

She nodded. "Where are you bound?"

"The Vale of Merdelain." The first anniversary of the battle would be in seven days. I could make the journey there somewhat leisurely; it was maybe a three-day trip, now that I had the horse—I'd named him Gwydon. "I'll catch up to the old crowd there."

"You weren't with them at the battle, as I hear it?" She phrased it as a question, without accusation, but it stung nonetheless.

"I couldn't be there with them," I snapped more sharply than I intended. It was true. I'd been on the other side, after all. "But I traveled with 'em for a year and a half." Never mind that the ones who died weren't exactly my favorite people. The bitchy, spoiled princess of a sorceress—she hadn't understood that destruction and power meant cunning and planning rather than just throwing a few fireballs. I'd hurt Lianna far more than Qara had ever dreamt of. Zhjaeve; the gith had been harmless enough, but bizarre. And Ammon Jerro—oh, he'd understood power and corruption with a bone-deep knowledge. He made me look like a rank amateur. I wasn't too sorry that he was dead. He was really far too creepy for a person to not sleep with one eye open for fear they'd be killed. "I'd like to pay my respects," I said, forcing myself to calm down.

In truth, I had pardon to ask of them—the living ones, at least. I'd tried to mend fences with Lianna and Casavir, but I hadn't seen the rest since I'd stood by Garius' side. The place where I had stood against them and only been saved by my sister's ability to tie me into knots seemed like the proper place to make my apologies. Whether they forgave me or not, at least I'd have done my part by admitting I'd done wrong. And besides, I was eager enough to report in to Casavir and get his acknowledgement that I was square up with Tyr—better to go find him than spend days and days waiting for him to get here.

She nodded. "To be honest, I'd thought about leaving the city myself," she said, finger idly circling the rim of her wineglass. "I find myself eager to get on the road." She gave a half-shrug. "I wouldn't mind paying my respects at the Vale myself. I wasn't there…but I'd like to acknowledge the courage of those who were."

Well, that was tricky. Of course Casavir would ask her how I'd done as her partner on the job, and she would give a good account of me. That would get me off the hook all the sooner, and I liked her company well enough—as much as I could enjoy being around anyone. But I'd have to handle it with some finesse to make sure she didn't see them greeting me with something less than pleasure. That would require too much explanation of things I didn't think she had business knowing. Oh well, a few words here and there about it being a private gathering of our fellowship would do it. She'd be polite and agree to hang back until later. Give me enough time to settle the matter, or failing that, get the hell out of there if things were too hot. "If you want to come along, that's all right. You're no burden out on the trail, and we could start making plans for the next trip north, I suppose."

"Very well. When do you plan to leave?"

"It's a three day trip if we ride hard and take provisions, but there's no need for that kind of hurry here. Ride during most of the daylight, save of it some for me to go hunt for food, and that's…ah, call it five days. Camp nearby on the thirtieth and get a good nights' sleep, then I'll meet up with the rest on the thirty-first. So, we leave tomorrow morning." I didn't ask if that was enough time. If she wanted to come with me, she'd best be ready.

She proved up to my standards there. Right after dawn, she was there at the Bell and Star, Eluthje's tack ready and saddlebags tied on as I led Gwydon out.

Hunting, unfortunately, didn't go quite as well as I'd hoped. Late Marpenoth—I should have been catching the animals headed for their dens and burrows for the winter, thick with stored fat. The first day, Karnwyr barely caught a whiff of any trail near our campsite. I came back after dark, irritated and empty-handed. I was a damn fine ranger, after all, and it was a rare day for me to fail to find any kind of game. My mood didn't improve when I saw that in my absence, she'd caught a couple of pink trout and had dinner all ready. My pride didn't keep me from eating, though.

The next day I set out determined to get _something_ for my pains, show her that the previous day had been just a fluke. I wasn't going to turn up again and have her give me that patient look and see fish roasting over the fire.

"Lots of scent," Karnwyr said, taking a deep breath of the air. "Deer…"

"Good. We'll have venison tonight. Run on ahead and scout it out for me." We knew the drill well enough. Times were that I'd hunt without him just to keep a good edge on my skills, but this evening, I was more interested in the swift, assured kill. He'd help locate the game, see if it was worth the efforts. He could keep an eye on it, informing me via our mind-speech, until I arrived to make the shot.

He padded into the woods, swiftly vanishing into the trees in a blur of grey fur, and I began to follow, keeping an eye poised for other tracks along the way.

I paused by the Dathau River, noticing with a grimace that it was running thick with dog trout, and resolved again that I was eating _meat _tonight, not fish. I was crouched over some promising tracks of elk on the southern bank when I heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming from behind me.

Getting to my feet, I turned in time to see a blur of brown-black fur undulating in the twilight—a wood bear was charging right at me. I must have been at his chosen fishing hole, stupidly unaware because I was so focused on making a kill. And he was obviously feeling protective of his food source, because he looked too thin for the coming onset of winter. Cursing myself and cursing the gods, I pulled the bow off my back.


	20. The Usual Suspects

_**Casavir**_

_Marpenoth 27, 1386_

"Where's Grobbie?" was Lia's first question once we had the entire circus assembled in the Great Hall, seated for some breakfast, and her mouth wasn't full of fresh made apple-and-spice sausage.

Sand looked up and gave his small, indulgent smile, lifting a thin brow. "The last I heard of our gnomish companion in Flamerule, he was accompanying another trade expedition to Chult."

"Chult?" Lia said, brows knit together with an anxious pucker, which smoothed as she relaxed and nodded. "Ah. Yeah, guess that bit happened while we were gone." She managed to say it casually enough.

As much as we'd—quite deliberately—kept to ourselves here at the Keep since returning from Rashemen, news trickled in via bards and the like. Apparently there had been some sort of crisis in our absence involving Chult, and Neverwinter had managed to smooth things over and establish a new mercantile rapport with our southern neighbors. Considering the war-torn state of the northern Sword Coast courtesy of the King of Shadows, the swift recovery of trade and the like was something of a coup. Not to mention that the mercantile juggernauts of Waterdeep and Amn must have been biting their lips in envy that little Neverwinter was Chult's chosen trade partner. The lush and dangerous jungle lands had long been closed to foreigners.

I heard mention here and there of admiration for a merchant, Ellayn Hagen, who had acted as Nasher's envoy and helped smooth over the situation.

Of course, "minor diplomatic skirmish" inevitably there actually were all sorts of near-misses on the coming of the apocalypse. So Ellayn had probably had to make liberal use of her sword as well as her tongue. The fact that she had been knighted would indicate that her services rendered to the state had been significant. I didn't recall her from my Neverwinter days, so she had to be a new arrival in my years of absence.

She'd even been here at the Keep, by Kana's account, perhaps hoping that Lia had come back, and a case of good Chultian rum had been delivered to the Keep early in Eleint with the signature of Seira Ellayn on a very cordial note saying that she was glad to hear of our safe return. I'd written back something equally polite, with our assurances that Lia and I would be glad to see her in Neverwinter, and so on.

It was a bit selfish of me, perhaps, but I was relieved that Lianna hadn't been called upon to save the day in this case. Aside from the fact that commerce and diplomacy weren't precisely her strong suits, she'd already suffered greatly for the sake of others. I was under no illusions that she wouldn't continue to do so, though—it was in her nature. Part of why I loved her, even as I fretted endlessly over it.

"Maybe he thinks the dinosaurs down there are his Wendersnaven," Neeshka piped up with a merry grin, carefully cracking the shell of an egg with tidy little raps of a spoon.

"Let's just hope he doesn't bring a quadriceratops romping into Castle Never as a present for Nasher," I said, allowing myself a smile at the thought.

"So Stumpy," Neeshka went on, turning to Khelgar and eyeing the young blond dwarven woman at his side that he had introduced as Harona Steelsong, "didn't get a chance to ask. Who's your partner here?" I admitted I was curious myself.

"Harona's my fiancée," Khelgar said, beaming with pride, a fine red flush creeping into his cheeks and the bald crown of his head.

"You didn't tell me you had a lady friend!" Lia protested, dropping her spoon and giving Khelgar a wide grin.

Harona spoke up: hers was a soft, even voice with the typical rolling dwarven tones. It reminded me of the flow and tumble of a brook over long-smoothed rocks. "We were engaged on Midsummer, Khel and me."

"My congratulations," I said, giving them both a smile. Khelgar beamed back, and even Harona gave me a shy twitch of the lips in reply. "It's different with dwarves," I explained, seeing Lia still looked gobsmacked. "Their matches are arranged by their parents or their elder kin."

"That's terrible!" Neeshka protested, tail twitching with anger. "Arranged marriage? Might as well just sell your girls off in the cradle!" Lia gave me an irritated, owlish look, probably just a reminder on Marrin's behalf that I'd better not get any ideas to sell her into one of the first families of Neverwinter claiming clear bloodlines from the original Nine, just to advance our position.

Well, that was no worry. I wouldn't consider a one of them for my little girl anyhow. They were the sad remnants of the blood of great warriors, weakened and diluted by centuries of entitlement and pomp to where many of them seemed to have forgotten that nobility was a quality of spirit, not of birth. I honestly hoped for better from my own blood in five hundred years or so.

Floashebel Danner had died without children. Shoce Riverswift had been a shield dwarf, as were all his descendents, and they almost never married humans. The Krothennays of N'halien were a high-handed lot, concerned mostly with appearances and their place. Slade Rentirian's line had died out at least a century ago, and the Hunts, Tamper's descendents, were headed the same way once the current lord passed. Renwalds of Coneth's half-orc blood were still around, but they had forsaken their noble status: they had abdicated their title when their heiress chose the path of a cleric rather than that of her birth. The Bellausters were harmless and genial enough, but compared to their warrior forebear Galavren, they didn't much like rocking the boat or stirring themselves towards much action. Talven's descendents, the Nightsongs, were an utterly proud lot, for well or ill. As for Thracier Morath, he had also died without heirs, but his treason also meant that his remaining kin left Neverwinter in a hurry after his execution and had never returned.

And unlike in years past when they could just ignore or belittle me, now they'd have to deal with both Lianna and I directly as equals. Not that I held illusions that they saw it that way—I knew the ancient bloodlines, both of the Nine and otherwise, would do their best to cut us both down to size. It was rather like a wolf pack; newcomers had to be tested and then shown their proper role quickly. Those who didn't play along would assuredly find out the pain of the mistake.

The more I considered it, the more I really hoped there might be a raging tribe of orcs somewhere that needed immediate attention, just so I could avoid court. Still…we'd put it off for over four months by cloistering up here at the castle. Someday we had to assume the roles Nasher had both gifted and cursed us with. As we'd found out recently, a problem would keep until we dealt with it, and fester all the more for having sat unattended.

Sitting and musing on that, I was snapped out of my reverie by Khelgar leaning across the table to shake his fist in Neeshka's face, and barely avoiding tipping a plate of biscuits over in the doing.

"Don't mock my peoples' ways," Khelgar growled irritably, visibly grinding his teeth. "Ye do Harona no credit by insultin' her to her face either."

Seeing the two of them puffing up like a pair of dogs with raised hackles, and sensing Lia's rising ire, I tried to diffuse the situation. "Discipline, Khelgar?" I reminded him mildly. "You've defended your lady, as you should, but calm yourself now."

He glowered, but sat back down in his seat and began the calm deep breaths of Tyrran meditation, and I heard him chanting lowly. Oh yes, he'd certainly been fired up that he had to resort to those techniques. At least he had mostly restrained himself despite being prodded—although probably more out of a gentleman's respect for not clobbering a woman than from any particular brand of innate restraint.

Seeing the triumphant looks on Lianna and Neeshka's faces, I went on. "Nobody forces them to marry, ladies. It's more akin to a serious courtship. The parents arrange the match, and the couple agrees to an exclusive betrothal that lasts until the following Midsummer. They spend the year together to test the relationship. And at the end, they either agree to wed, or dissolve the contract." If they chose to not marry, there was no stigma to it. The dwarves, for all their iron-strong ways and custom, loved their families and wouldn't care to see their children made miserable in a bad marriage.

"Sounds familiar," Lianna said, tossing a piping-hot biscuit from one hand to another, then down to her plate, to avoid being burned. I tried to restrain a groan. Maybe we needed to have a good talk about table etiquette. No, she didn't slurp or belch or the like, but little things like that which passed in the woods would be used to wound her severely in the hands of people who had nothing better to do than scrutinize for such artificial niceties. My answer to that, personally, was that people with wealth and power should spend their time doing some good for the world rather than creating a new type of fork and an obscure way of holding it, but of course, my opinion hadn't been consulted.

"Humans adapted the custom in the form of village vows," I answered her. "So that's why you know it." At least village vows didn't expire right at one year, though. By that definition, of course, Lianna and I wouldn't have been married since this Greengrass. It would have felt a bit wicked to think that I was maybe carrying on with a woman not my wife—somehow, both alluring and shameful. Although I knew after two or three years, people started to wonder why a couple hadn't done the thing up proper or gone their own ways. Suffice it to say; I was glad she had accepted my proposal of marriage a few days ago. Spontaneous as it had been—it had felt strangely right to ask just then. Perhaps that made it easier for her to accept rather than if I had offered it with the usual formality and ceremony.

"Didn't know ye had such an interest in dwarven culture?" Khelgar said, reddish brows knit together, but I could see that he was pleased I had defended him.

Oh, in the day, I had been forced to know so much detail about the families of Neverwinter, with the customs of so many races and nations, so that I could carry myself in diplomacy without looking like an ass. I could, in theory, spend time with everyone from a kobold to a Waterdhavian to a Theskite and not offend them. Unfortunately, such training gave little emphasis to dealing with the commons, with their issues and concerns and careful pride. With them, I had learned the hard way. I counted that to be among the most valuable knowledge I had gained in my years, though. "I read a lot," I settled for that answer. "And I'm pleased to meet your betrothed."

"Ye are most courteous," Harona offered, with another sweet smile. With that, Lianna and Neeshka relaxed and resumed their meal. I had the feeling that within a tenday, Harona would be drawn into their circle, whether she chose to marry Khelgar or not. Women tended to absorb newcomers into their confidence quite readily. Still, from the way I saw Khel sneaking his hand down to clumsily pat hers, and the way she looked at him, I had a feeling theirs would be a lasting match anyhow.

"How about ye, fiendling?" Khelgar said, shooting Neeshka a sly look. "Have ye any prospects yerself on a man?"

"Tcha!" Neeshka said, turning up her pointed nose. "Do I _look _like I want a big lunk around for me to look after? No thank you."

Lia gave her a mischievous grin, a forkful of potatoes poised at the ready as she remarked, "Yule's coming, Neesh, and don't you _ever_ want a honey to kiss beneath the mistletoe for it?" Neeshka shot her another fierce glance. "I'll let Gann know that it's out of the question. I'm sure he was looking forward to seeing you…"

Khelgar let out a hoot of laughter, waving a biscuit at Neeshka like a wagging finger. "Ye have the hagspawn interested, little one?"

"Oh gods," Sand groaned, head firmly in his hands by this point. "I shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning, particularly not for feeding time at the menagerie." I was more than a little inclined to sympathize with him.

Neeshka squirmed uneasily. "Yeah, well, we freaks have to stick together," she allowed. Come to think of it, I had noticed them talking often enough back in Rashemen, off by themselves. I was admittedly somewhat distracted, though, by Lianna and her condition of both mind and body. And perhaps I hadn't thought much of it that the two who had been spurned by many in society should bond together. "But if he thinks I'm sweet on him, he's got another thing coming!" Looking around her furiously, she said too quickly, "Speaking of being sweet on a man, where's Elanee anyhow?"

I shrugged. "She's likely out walking with Lianna's father." That would have been while she and I were still dead to the world after last night's dreamwalking fiasco, of course. On the bright side, Lianna appeared to be in good spirits today, and for as dreadful as the thing had been…I still felt closer to her for having done it. The nights might be difficult, but at least we'd endure them together. I couldn't help but slide my hand under the table and search for hers. Her fingers slid over mind, brushing against my palm in a tickling caress before she grasped my hand.

"When's the wedding?" Sand piped up with some interest, long fingers delicately plucking a bit of peel off a section of a sourfruit. For all his sarcasm and feigned indifference, he'd been well pleased when Lianna and I finally got together. I had the feeling he secretly loved a wedding, much as he liked to feign a languorous, lofty indifference to most anything.

Lia shrugged quickly, an impatient, dismissive gesture. "You know how it is—hand me the griddle cakes, will you, Cas—with elves. When you've got however many hundred years to live, nothing happens in a hurry. And the one time I asked, he gave me this look and said it wasn't the business of children to presume on the business of their elders."

"So then of course you asked Elanee about it instead." She shot me a sheepish look. "You forget that I know you," I said dryly. And unlike in the past, I started to believe that it was true these days.

"He hasn't actually _asked_ yet, see. But if he hasn't by Yule, I figure I'll have you boys go talk to him, twist his ear, and tell him that a girl doesn't _like_ being kept waiting to hear from the man she loves."

Suddenly I felt their eyes turning to me at that comment: tiefling maroon, elven grey, dwarven brown. And oh yes, I didn't need to have mind-reading powers to know exactly what they were thinking. I was well aware that my silence towards Lianna had probably been quite the topic of discussion back in the day. I swallowed a mouthful of griddle cake and tried to smile as nonchalantly as I could, though the clumsily made remark made me acutely uncomfortable. "Point taken,dear," I said calmly. "Pass the syrup, please?"

She handed me the jug of reddish birch syrup, giving me an apologetic look with it. "Come on, I didn't mean _you_. Besides, it wasn't just you being an idiot. It was paladin vows and all. I know that."

"I think you're making it worse, Lia," Neeshka chimed in helpfully.

Sand cut in, which I was thankful for. "And how is little Marrin, dear girl?" he asked Lianna with his voice like a cat's purr. "I haven't seen her since she was two days old."

I risked giving him a grateful glance, and he gave me another of his knife-edged smiles of acknowledgment. "She's lovely," Lia said, and I heard the warmth in her voice when she spoke of our daughter. "Strong, healthy, sweet enough when she's not fussing…"

"Who are we speaking of?" Elanee's soft voice floated into the room, light as her step. As predicted, Daeghun was only a step behind her.

"We were talking about Marrin, Ellie," Lia said, gesturing to the food. "Breakfast's on, so you and Father should get some before Sand eats it all."

I heard a few barely-suppressed chuckles and snorts at the table; Sand's hefty appetite was almost legendary in our group. The elf in question gave us all a needle-sharp glower and emphatically stabbed a stack of six fresh griddlecakes to transfer them to his plate.

"And you?" Khelgar said with some interest, craning his head to look at Lianna. "He's treatin' ye well?"

"Khel!" she protested, a charming blush creeping into her cheeks. "Of _course _he is. What sort of man do you take Cas for?"

"Cas is sitting right here, by the way," I supplied very helpfully, sitting back in my chair and trying to not sigh, "so you needn't talk around him." I'd gotten quite used to it in days gone by. Of course, silence had its advantages, something Bishop never learned with his constant jawing. People eventually tended to forget a quiet person was there, and a good listener could learn much.

Khel guffawed and gave me a heart smack on the back. "Certainly, ye do well by her, lad. No lass looks that content otherwise. And….mmphm…something different about ye too?"

"I shaved since you saw me last," I said dryly, reaching for the butter. Much as Lianna had apparently enjoyed the facial hair, I'd made a clean job of it this morning. I might grow it again later, but for now, it felt more comfortable to resume my former look. Besides, I was in no mood to give any free ammunition for those who were probably going to try to demean me. A few of the older generation wore the style in Neverwinter, men of Nasher's generation, but by and large, facial hair was seen as the mark of a barbarian among the younger set.

"Ye shaved all the time when we were at war," he argued, staring at me intently. It didn't surprise me that as a fellow Tyrran, he might be the first to sense the new grace our god had granted me. It was all still too new, too private, though, to just tell them the tale. The full details were between Tyr, Lianna, and me.

"I finally figured a few things out," I admitted, sensing that he was going to doggedly pursue the matter until he figured it out. "Tyr noticed."

"Ahhhhh," he said, giving me another blow to my shoulders in congratulations. If I'd been choking on something, it probably would have done me a world of good. As was, I winced. With a sort of detached interest, I recalled from Janneth's lessons in healing and anatomy years ago that the scapula was rather a hard bone to break. Thank the gods for that small mercy.

"That's when you gained your companion?" Elanee asked with interest, inclining her head towards me as she asked the question. "She's a beautiful animal. I spoke to her on the way out of the castle, and she said that she was bonded to you. It…surprised me, I confess. I was not aware that paladins had companions as we children of the forest do."

"Usually don't," Lia answered for me. "But Tyr sent Rhella for a reason rather than some haughty destrier. She's a real corker, but I think she and Cas are doing each other a lot of good."

Daeghun raised an eyebrow. "Bears are proud and strong—but in a way that may clash with ours. Even most who follow nature's path don't gain such creatures as their first companion. Take care that you prove yourself worthy of such a gift…and a test also, _arréd_," he advised. The stern words were utterly softened by his calling me "son". But I knew his manner well enough. I tried to not let him see my appreciation of it. Twenty years and more since any man had called me that, except in the politely religious sense, and the sense of belonging it gave me was soothing.

And Daeghun was right, as he often was. Many rangers and druids had _kammak-salik_, first companions, with ways far more like those of their _ilanaak_—herd animals or small things like badgers were most common. Lianna was a bit unusual in having bonded to a large bird of prey. But Mielikki had sent her the eagle, foreseeing Falyris having some purpose in the coming conflict that a deer or the like wouldn't fulfill. And true to form, the cliff eagle had been a brave companion to our party as a frequent scout and messenger, and sometimes warrior.

On the whole, though, the gods of the woodlands let those early lessons be learned before they allowed bonding with creatures further in understanding of our nature. Already I had seen how utterly different Rhella's view was from that of Lyris, and the winter bear was probably was both a blessing and a challenge. But she was one that Tyr and Okku believed me capable of, else they wouldn't have sent her. I understood the message well enough. My path probably would be full of new situations and tests. The hardest was probably ahead, and I had best be ready to meet it with courage and wisdom.

Starting with the days ahead in Neverwinter; I was under no illusion that showing up with a bear by my side wouldn't raise a few eyebrows, given my past and my heritage. But for all that, there were small things I would do to smooth things ahead of us, and there were things I wouldn't. I would shave, but as for Rhella, I wouldn't trade a single silver-tipped hair of her large hide for a horse or a mastiff or something more "proper" for a nobleman.

"I'd better talk to her a bit more about the city after breakfast," I said, shaking my head and sighing. Rhella done quite well here at the Keep, inquisitive and sharp-minded as she was, but that was another matter entirely from being in an actual city, even one so small as Neverwinter. I had visions of terrified citizens and a terrified bear—a very bad combination. But I couldn't leave her here or outside the city for two tendays or more: the bond between us wasn't meant to be ignored because of simple inconvenience. Much as I owed my attention and consideration to my wife and daughter, so too did I owe it to my companion.

While the rest went to go admire and coo at Marrin, I spent the morning with Rhella. The other companions had gravitated to the place, probably drawn to the nascent power of the gods and spirits that permeated the place. Falyris had perched up in the birch tree, preening herself. Rollo, Daeghun's silver fox, was with Naloch, Elanee's badger, taking a nap curled in the roots of the oak tree of the godswood, sleeping in the sun. Poor little Naloch; he was already starting to turn old and grey, having been with Elanee for fifteen years. Bonding granted the companion some extra measure of life, in part a godsgift and in part because the care they found was better than that of surviving in the harsh wilderness, but none of them could live forever. But if I were fortunate, I could expect Rhella to be with me a good forty years.

Two hours later, we had made significant progress. Well, aside from the fact that she was still incredulous on the concept of "So many people dwell _together_? No fights?"

"Many, actually," I said wryly. "But there's some structure. One man rules the city."

"The strongest?"

"In some ways." For all that lordship had been a mantle he wore ill at some times, Nasher Alagondar was a force to be reckoned with. He had come to Neverwinter during the Time of Troubles to slay a minotaur that he heard was menacing the city in that period of chaos, the one who had likewise slain his wife and child. The grateful citizens readily proclaimed him their savior and lord. The Council was not pleased at the thought of having to account for a liege lord—and a common born one—when they had been accustomed to having sole rule of the city for centuries. But the thing was done, and Nasher was brought in. "And there's a group of others who rule as well. They're not _quite _submissive to him, because they have their own power." They'd let him take the title of their lord, but the Council and Nasher ruled more or less as two equal entities, each providing a check on the other. This, of course, meant that very little got accomplished when it came to Neverwinterian politics, as the two often quashed the ideas and policies the other came up with.

"Don't understand," she said with some confusion, stretching with a sigh as we sat underneath Tyr's linden, she inviting me to lean back against her soft, furry flank.

"In the wild, there are bears. But there are foxes and wolves and…lynxes and other things too, right?"

"Not as strong as bears," she said with a smirk in her voice.

"But you share territory with them. So that's the case here. We have Nasher and the nobles of the Council, and it's like a bunch of different predators controlling and managing the same…er…prey supply." Well, putting the common folk in those terms made me wince, but it struck me that some nobles saw them as no better than the deer they shot in the woods or the cattle on the farms: breeding too frequently, of less swift intelligence and cunning, and made by nature to serve the requirements of stronger species. "They…ah…don't always cooperate, see, but they manage to share the same turf."

"Ah," she said simply, glancing at me. "But…makes you unhappy, _ilanaak_?"

"If they would cooperate rather than just looking out for their own petty goals and gains, Rhella, the things they could accomplish? I know it's hard for you to imagine. But when people work together, I think there's no limit to the good they can do for the world."

"Can imagine some," she offered rather generously. "Your mountain here, all work together. Everything too much for one person. So big things happen, and people happy."

I stared at her, shaking my head and laughing softly to myself. "Wisdom from the mouths of winter bears. If you can see it so easily, it's a true wonder that they can't." I patted her shoulder. "Perhaps you ought to go start a revolution amongst bearfolk," I teased her. "Impart the wisdom of working together so that you can all get your food for winter so much quicker."

She chuffed merrily, nudging closer to me. "No, _ilanaak. _Bearkind not my people; Tyr and Okku open my eyes, send me to human world. You, mate, and cub mine now. I stay with you."

I caressed her head, rubbing her between the ears. "Then I thank you for that, my dear."

"So you make predators of Neverwinter work together?"

"Gods know, I'll try. Tyr and Nasher didn't put me on the Council just so I could commission a gold fountain for our courtyard and eat goose liver paste all day long. We weren't born to their ranks, but perhaps Lia and I see the flaws and possibilities all the clearer because of it."

"Little warrior," she said, again with clear mirth.

"Not little," I reminded her, holding up a finger in warning, but I couldn't keep from laughing despite myself. This was becoming a private joke between us. "The fight will be tough."

"Nobody wants new arrival to take territory. They fight hard. But you strong enough."

Well, strange to say, that simple encouragement from a bear gave me more heart towards the coming days than anything else had. With that, I went to go find Lianna, packing the last of Marrin's things for us to depart for the Vale after lunch.

"They adore her," she said with a smile, brushing Marrin's cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Maybe because we all thought there'd never be any kind of happily ever after. Seeing it finally come…the normal stuff, that you and I can settle down together, make a life, have a daughter…she reassures them. Makes them believe that even after the hells we all went through, their own lives might be as good."

"I think they will be. But you still look uneasy."

"Last night." She took a deep breath, pulled the corner of the blanket more tightly around Marrin. Sensing a discussion ahead, I crossed the room to kneel beside her on the stone floor. "You saw my mother, and me. Ever since Marrin was born, I try to remember Esmerelle. How she was around me. She was raised as a page in the Waterdhavian chapterhouse, Daeghun says. I'll bet there wasn't much she learned about lovers and babies there."

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"I know she loved me. She didn't induce a miscarriage, despite my father abandoning her. And she died to protect me. But that doesn't mean that she wasn't scared…for everything she didn't know about how to care for a kid and…then there was Daeghun…"

I put my arms around her, hearing in her words the echo of a fear that had nagged me as well. I had spent my eighth birthday trying to care for my family, dying of fever. Less than a tenday later, they lay in ashes and I was in Neverwinter. Ever since then, my life had been the demanding life of paladinhood. "I was raised as Aribeth's ward. And so I know that I don't know much about children." The closest to parents I had been Oleff, Janeth, and Freija, who had educated me and given me as much affection as they dared. But I sensed that even they had been forced to restraint, mindful that I was Aribeth's ward and that it was her right to plan my upbringing as she saw fit.

"Aribeth and Daeghun looked after us, but didn't let themselves love either of us. I just want _better_ for her than that," she said with determination. "But I don't know how."

"We'll find a way," I said to reassure her. "If we can admit we don't know a thing…well, that seems like it's the hardest step taken. You and Marrin, you're my family now. If that means confessing I don't know much about being a husband and a father so that I can learn better, then so be it."

She smiled softly, reaching out to touch my face. "You're doing well as a husband. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"It took me a long time to realize I wasn't. And children are more fragile. I don't want to make mistakes with Marrin that I can avoid by being honest with myself."

"Me too." She sighed, shaking her head. "Unfortunately, neither of us has kin we can ask. My mother's dead. My blood father ran off years ago. Daeghun's not exactly a sterling example. I'm still not certain I want to let Bishop _near _Marrin without an extremely close watch. Your parents and your sister are dead."

"Only one sister," I said softly. "I've meant to speak to you of it. Don't think that I kept it from you deliberately; I was keeping it even from myself. But what you saw in my dream…my elder sister was probably inside helping with dinner while Irenna and I were playing." I smiled ruefully. "The advantages of youth, you see." I told her about Dathne, about how she had left us before the ague had come.

"She's alive?" Lianna said with some interest.

"She may be," I allowed. "Though she never came back to find me. She may be dead, or she may have no interest in me. But…"

"Or she may have simply given up hope," she said. "Don't be so ready to think the worst. But you have to find her and finish it, either way. I understand," she said, the warmth of encouragement in her eyes. "Bishop is…not exactly an ideal brother. He's improving, sure. But I'm glad to finally have an answer to why I was drawn to him when I never loved him. Go find Dathne, whatever it takes. I'll come with you, if I can," she said, a worried expression on her face. "Duty might require me to stick around here, though."

"I don't mean to leave you," I reassured her, unable to help a smile at how ready she had been to let me go, with her blessing. "In the city, there's a group of folks called 'detectives'. It's mostly skilled Tyrrans and Oghmines who freelance for those in need of information. Maybe it's a thing that the City Watch handled badly, or maybe you lost something. But you can hire one of their detectives to find the answer."

I knew with such a slim thread to go on twenty-two years later and for an investigation that would take them far from Neverwinter that this might be an expensive proposition. And I wouldn't presume to use funds that should rightly be spent on our tenants. Still, I had been Aribeth's heir as well as ward. And Nasher had awarded me her confiscated properties after our duel. So I had a house in Blacklake that had been shut up tight for thirteen years. I had turned my face away from it the few times we had passed it during the war. And I had a modest sum of gold in the vaults of the Temple of Commerce, held by the priests of Waukeen. That would hopefully be enough.

"Tyr and Oghma, truth and knowledge," she said with a nod of acknowledgment. "That makes sense. So you want to hire one of these people to find your sister. Do it." She grinned cheerfully. "And make sure they tell her that she's welcome for Yule if she likes."

"Thank you," I said, clasping her hands in mine for a brief moment, knowing the generosity that lay in her and as ever, grateful for it. She kissed me quickly on the lips and resumed packing Marrin's things.

We assembled in the courtyard, horses packed and ready. Naloch and Rollo were in their saddlebags, Falyris sat perched on the wall watching us expectantly, Marrin was safe in a sling across Lianna's chest, and Rhella prowled anxiously near the gate. Khelgar huffed, as he always had, that his saddle was ill-adjusted for his height. And we all knew it was because he simply hated saddled because he thought riding a horse was bloody unnatural. Harona proved that she was a promising match for the King of the Ironfists by cajoling him into mounting his gelding and quieting him down. Of course, it seemed to me that it would be a difficult thing for a man to sustain a fit of pique for too long without looking like an ass with his beloved calmly listening and reassuring him. I filed that tidbit of information away for future reference.

We rode northeast from the Keep into the fiery copper and bronze and gold of the autumn countryside. But for all its beauty, and for the warmth of the afternoon sun shining on us, we all were very quiet. For the next few hours, all I heard was the sound of horses' hooves against the dirt of the road and the jangle of harness, a small cry from Marrin quickly soothed away by Lianna, and a muffled curse from Neeshka as an insect bit her. The jokes and songs and teasing that would have sustained us on the trail when we were on campaign were utterly missing.

After all, we all knew what lay ahead on our trail, and what lay behind in our pasts: the Vale of Merdalain. Even Crossroads Keep, as horrific as the siege had been, was easier to handle because it had recovered, bustled anew with activity and noise and progress. Its new life had started to cover over the scars of last autumn. But the Vale still was a silent, shattered ruin. It had been untouched by anyone since the rescuers had tried to find us, discovering only the bodies of Qara, Zhjaeve, and Ammon. By then, Khelgar, Neeshka, Elanee, Grobnar, Sand, Lianna and I were all half a world away, and Bishop was fleeing back to Neverwinter.

I had the feeling that it would be centuries—if ever—before the place would ever be seen as anything but a monument, so a year's time gone by wasn't nearly enough.


	21. How Green Was My Valley

_**Lianna**_

_Marpenoth 30, 1386 DR_

Nothing lived here in the Vale of Merdalain, not even now. Though the day was bright and quite warm for mid-autumn—quite inappropriate to the mood of us all—no birds sang or flew overhead, and nothing stirred in the bushes nearby except a faint moan of wind. The area was still and silent, a heap of jumbled and shattered stones like a giant's hurled playthings collapsed brokenly into a gaping hole in the earth, an abrupt drop plummeting a good twenty feet underground.

I could sense a whiff of lingering taint even now. No wonder the animals hadn't returned. Rhella, Falyris, Naloch and Rollo had stayed on the edge of the woods a little ways behind us, unwilling to step further from the natural world they understood into this one. I didn't blame them. Maybe in many years when the land had a chance to heal, the raw edges of the stones might grow over with greenery and life might return. But not, I thought, while I was still alive. Scars on the earth heal only very slowly. And perhaps, like that patch of scorched turf in West Harbor, maybe it never would. I was of half a mind to ask the few who had returned to my home village to rebuild if they thought the harvest would grow next year. For their sakes, I hoped it would.

Casavir, with his senses far more attuned to sniff out darkness than mine, must have seen it even more clearly. But when I looked at him, he stood calm and impassive, that carefully blank expression in place. His paladin face, I'd always thought of it, and I'd seen it so many times on campaign when he didn't _want _to feel what he was feeling—usually, his love for me. But sometimes he carefully tucked other feelings behind it: guilt, grief, sorrow…whatever emotion threatened to overwhelm him.

"They dug for us in _that_," Neeshka murmured with some awe, standing on the edge and peering down into the abyss with curious eyes. I could only imagine what a hellish task it must have been for the search parties to enter that morass of broken stone and rubble.

"Are you all right?" Cas' words were low so that nobody else would hear them except me, his hand a reassuring weight on my arm. Marrin somehow slept peacefully, cradled against my chest. I envied her that good fortune.

"No," I said through strangely numb lips, feeling lightheaded as though I had entered a dream—or a nightmare. "I'm not." And it was very possible I never would be. I grasped his hand like a lifeline. He had stood with me here at the end; ready to do anything to protect me. A year later, it seemed little had changed in that regard.

Harona leaned against Khelgar, murmuring softly to him. I couldn't hear her words, but I could well imagine. _Gods, ye escaped __that_,_ Khelgar? _Shy as the dwarf lass seemed to be, there was a tough streak in her, one that recognized her fiancé's distress and somehow moved to alleviate it. That touched me. Despite the way they'd been introduced, they might make a good match of it.

Even Daeghun put an arm around Elanee. Years ago I might have been insanely jealous that someone else should get that show of affection from him, when I almost never had. But blessed as I was now with Cas, I couldn't begrudge her the love of a good man today, or ever.

I had Casavir. Khelgar had Harona. Elanee had Daeghun. But not all of us were so fortunate as to have a shoulder to lean on for the ordeal today. I looked over at Sand, feigning diffidence but distress in the lines of his slender frame, and Neeshka, tail twitching nervously. We had come and seen the place. Was that enough?

"Maybe we should leave," I offered them the chance, raising my voice so they all heard me.

Sand shook his head vehemently—one of the few graceless movements I'd ever seen from the man. His long black hair flew around his head like jet-dyed silk, tumbling wild from the force of emotion in the gesture. His pale grey eyes seemed sharp as a needle. "We rode days to come here and _face this_. Don't tell me that after three years of hard campaign and then what you endured in the faraway east that this is beyond your courage."

I felt my spine stiffen, feeling like a wet and angry cat at his abrasive tone. "Damn you, Sanda'karel Medrused, don't _take _that haughtiness with me."

He smiled his knife-edged smile, clapping his hands once in approval. "Now that's more like it, dear girl. Warriors are so unbecoming when they wallow in self-pity."

"Thank you, Sand," Casavir said dryly, shifting uncomfortably by my side.

"Oh, for Mystra's sake, I wasn't referring to _you_, although I suppose it was applicable from what they tell me about your state when your fair lady first found you."

"He was a real case," Neeshka piped up. "All gloom. I suppose Lianna likes 'em tall and dark and brooding."

"If I wanted a brooding moron, I'd have gone for a fucking poet who'd starve himself to death because I told him off," I snapped, feeling the urge to defend my husband against that sort of criticism. "He wasn't chatty, fine, but he wasn't all sighing melodrama either."

"I think Lianna chose well for a mate," Elanee defended me. I gave her a mouthed "Thanks" in reply, and she gave me a tiny grin back. The family Farlong—me by adoption, her by pending marriage—had to stick together, after all.

"Don't be so harsh on the lad," Khelgar chimed in. "Yer no one to speak, wizard, with a mysterious past ye never speak of."

"Can we all shut up, _please_?" Casavir barked in the tones of a man trained to military command that brooked no argument. We all turned to stare at him, and a hint of blush crept into his cheeks. "I did say 'please'," he said defensively, holding up his hands apologetically.

"So you did," Neeshka said, with a slight roll of her eyes. "I still think that's the first time I've heard you get irritated." Probably true, and a sign of the changes he'd undergone that he'd let that bit of simple human emotion show so readily. They didn't know about that, though, so of course it might look a bit odd to them.

He ignored that statement. "Very well. Let's be honest. I was quite depressed and trying to carry an impossible burden. Sand was furtive and concealing his Luskan days. Khelgar was constantly spoiling for a fight. Neeshka didn't care about anyone since nobody had cared about her. Elanee had escaped her Circle to go out into the world." None of us dared to speak or move a muscle; it was as though we were entranced by the sheer force of his words. "We all had problems, but misfit and broken as we were, we all found friendship when Lianna took us in. And that let us stand against Luskan's machinations, Garius' black sorcery, and the bloody King of Shadows himself. I know the difference. I fought a war before this one."

He _had_ been utterly alone during the Luskan War, I realized. Sixteen and betrayed by his guardian and mentor, a woman who had trained him so exactingly that he had no time to develop friendships, rejected and sneered at by the young nobles he was forced to deal with…if I had been in his boots, I would never have survived the Shadow War. "You're my best friends," I told them. "Even if I want to kick your asses sometimes, I wouldn't trade a one of you. You helped me weather all of it. And here we are today, together still. We can stand this." I couldn't help but think that Rashemen would have been so much simpler with them, even if I couldn't recall the particulars of our shared past.

I stepped forward towards the edge of the pit, gazing out over the ruins. "So," I said half to myself. Stirring speeches had never been a particular strong point of mine. I looked down at Marrin, tucking a corner of her blanket around her more tightly. _This is where we fought, lovie. You were here too a year ago, though I didn't yet know it. But there was almost no fine and good world for you to come into. Your father and me…we both almost died. Gods' grace alone that we lived, I think._ _Some of us didn't_.

My throat drew tight with grief and memory of those we had loved and lost to the shadow. In the end, all I said for my speech were their names, given under the heavens of the gods. Wherever they were, in paradise or torment or anywhere in between, I hoped their spirits would hear so that they'd know we hadn't forgotten them and their sacrifice.

"Esmerelle Thirsk. Shayla Farlong." The first to fall that I knew of, but they were far from the last. I heard Daeghun make a small sound of pain behind me at the name of his first wife. They were never far from my nightmares, though I wished to Mielikki that there might be a night that I dreamed of better times with Mom and Auntie Shayla rather than blood and ice and darkness.

"Amie Fern." She'd been my sometimes-rival, my fellow troublemaker, my true friend. And always so eager to learn, she'd tried to defend her mentor and ended up slaughtered in the night by a menace I didn't understand then. Bevil hadn't even had time to weep over his fiancée before Daeghun kicked us both out to go trek to the swamps and retrieve the cursed shard.

"Shandra Jerro." No one should have died as she did, alone and betrayed, with only fiends of the hells and her grandfather, her killer, as her final sight. She had suffered greatly since I had met her…having her farm burned, being kidnapped by the gith, losing her friends at Ember, and then finally being murdered. She had greatly feared the Haven, and rightly so.

"Callum Swiftstrike." The wry young shield dwarf had been Cas' friend. If I had more time to get to know him, I'd likely have befriended him too. He'd coordinated the campaign at Old Owl Well marvelously with his acid tongue and clever mind, and of course, he cared about Cas. He'd defended my life and my honor during my trial. And he had died bravely against impossible odds. A truer knight, Callum, than many for whom the title was just a pretense.

"Qara Stolthahl." Even if she had been a self-centered fool who had been lured by power in the end, she had still fought with us for over a year and a half, shared our fire and our friendship. Knowing that almost made her easy turn of loyalties all the more painful. She had been young and stupid, but some part of me thought she had hungered to belong. And for a time, she had.

"Zhjaeve of the Githzerai." If she had a surname or clan, she had never told it to us. That was no surprise. Zhajaeve had always been an enigma to us all. She had appeared on this plane, willing to guide me in finding and forging the weapons I needed for the battle. Once that task was complete, she had fallen. Perhaps she sensed that her purpose had been completed, and that she could return to whatever spirits or deities her people claimed with honor.

"Ammon Jerro." I had never liked the old man. He was too eager to sacrifice the ideas and the people I held dear to achieve a goal. As if realizing in addition to his demonic bargains, kinslaying probably just heaped on more damnation, he had always been bitter and ruthless. But he hadn't begrudged me apparently being the person who could complete the task he had failed. He aided me without rancor. And at the end, he stood with us, with courage and honor.

Looking out into the wrack and ruin of the Vale that I sometimes thought too well resembled the state of my soul, I heard their footsteps rustling on the grass as they came up to me. Cas' hand found my shoulder. Neeshka pressed against me on the other side. We stood then tightly side by side at the edge of the pit, silent as the grave it had almost been for us all.

Maybe two, three minutes went by in absolute stillness. Not so long a time in the grand scheme of things, I knew. But that was some kind of torturous eternity to endure in silence, all of us casting inward back to our memories of a year ago. Exhausted by the battle at the Keep, we'd still forged on ahead. We had no other choice. All the terror, the desperation, the knowledge that so much rested on our success, the heart-tearing conviction that even if we won, some of us wouldn't be coming home. That had been the Vale for us last Marpenoth.

I reached out and squeezed Neeshka's arm in reassurance. I knew this battle had been a particular hell for her, captured and tormented by Garius' blood geas. The strength of will and body it had taken to endure the pain and choose to stand with us—that was a sign of her love that I knew I could never forget. She had come so far from the bratty, sharply defensive young woman who didn't give a damn for anyone that I'd met at Fort Locke.

We were all changed beings now, both well and ill. Those of us who stood here now, bonded strongest; we had all been so young at the start of things, barely grown and still lacking the ways of the world-wise. Even Sand, the oldest, was still barely in his late hundreds. In a way, this ordeal had matured us fully, burned away the last vestiges of childhood and naïveté. Those who claimed sex was the barrier between child and adult were idiots—they obviously had never suffered like this. Responsibilities and loss made me into a woman long before Cas ever dared to take me in his arms.

I heard Casavir inhale deeply, and the unbearable quiet broke as he began to sing. I recognized the tune almost immediately: the Tyrran song always sung at evening prayers. Someone had written it centuries before, and despite inevitable changes and reforms in the faith, the hymn had remained unaltered. It was a tribute for all those who had fallen in the fierce pursuit of justice, died while protecting the sweet and fragile and good things in the world. Sung by a temple choir, multiple voices interweaving in the almost chant-like tune and rising to the high-vaulted ceiling above, it had a haunting glory that could bring most anyone to tears. I had seen people with glistening cheeks and damp handkerchief both in Neverwinter and at our own temple at Crossroads Keep.

He had no choir to harmonize with; most of us didn't know the hymn, lengthy and sung entirely in Thorass. But gods, he didn't need such a thing. His voice soared beneath the open skies like a bird on the wing; the requiem seemed to ring throughout the valley. In its way, his solo deep baritone, some notes trembling with a depth of feeling, carried a more unbearable beauty and pain than even a choir of celestials could have managed. Somehow, I didn't weep. Maybe I'd cried too often lately. But my grief was every bit as wrenching. Cas somehow continued, determined to give the due honor to our dead, though I could hear him struggling more and more with the overwhelming tide of emotion.

"_Thyne árweoð est, cáf anth æltǽ,_

_Ac hathi thow hatz uns gieffan,_

_Thy nama ǽlíf-léor est…_"

When Rhella roared in baffled pain, drowning out Cas' song, I was looking at the tears rolling down Khelgar's cheeks as he raised his arm to wipe his eyes—and his nose—on the fine sleeve of his tunic.

I instinctively turned towards the winter bear, seeing her eyes wide with terror and an arrow buried in her shoulder. She must have wanted to run to Casavir, but the _wrongness_ she sensed in front of her kept her penned where she stood. She roared again, defiantly, though she kept her injured paw off the ground as she did so. "_Fight_ me, human! Puny sticks not kill me!" she snarled, showing off her long white teeth as she roared defiantly.

I half turned to Casavir, trying to understand it. His face was like my memories of Kelemvor, his features were so still; except, of course, no death-mask had ever had eyes burning with a combination of fear for his companion, and a very healthy dose of sheer blue murder.

Cas approached the bear, probably to heal and reassure her. But I saw that for his first priority, he'd reverted to the lessons of instinct and years of living in dangerous turf. He was scanning the area furiously, trying to locate whatever threat presented itself in this attack on his _kammak_. "Let me help," I said, quickly handing an awakening Marrin off to Elanee and moving forward with him, towards where Rhella hobbled awkwardly, still unwilling to cross the tree line. "I know arrow wounds."

"She's _mine_," he growled at me with obvious temper. The first instinct was to get pissed off at his tone and lash out in return. Fortunately for both of us, I'd been learning lately to not just jump with that impulse. The second thought was one of understanding—he wasn't angry with me. He was frightened for her, distracted by trying to find someone hiding in the gods-damned bushes, and furious that someone had just attacked _his _companion. If someone attacked him, or Falyris, or Marrin…yes, I'd be infuriated as well.

As I'd tried to explain, much as his healing skills exceeded mine both in magic and mundane realms, nothing to sort out the way of an arrow wound like a ranger's wiles. We knew best how to read and then heal them, since we knew best how to cause them. Besides, if I examined the arrow, I could learn a lot. The wood and weight of the shaft, the style, the length; they'd tell me a lot about the probable severity of the puncture, and likewise, a few things about the archer himself.

Arrows, like bows and any other weapon, were highly individualized. Anyone looking in my quiver would be able to tell a good bit about me without even seeing me in person. Their length would tell them the draw of the bow, and thus my relative height and strength. That would also imply I was a woman—or perhaps an elven male. Linden or ash shafts that were carefully straightened, and strong but light; I prized speed and accuracy in my shots. And goose feather fletching…well, that probably just meant I wasn't too picky. All in all, they were the arrows of an ordinary female country ranger. They'd tell that even before seeing my personal mark on them to help claim a kill or sort my arrows from others—two green bands of paint and an "L".

I had the feeling Casavir, even after he calmed down and saw that Rhella was still on her feet and would recover, was still going to want a few words about shooting first and thinking later with whatever huntsman had done this. If the moron had any sense he was halfway across the valley already. Didn't mean that would save him; once Cas got a thing in his head, there was no getting it out. After all, he was a man who'd spent years constantly trying to get killed out of some insane sense of remorse and imagined divine condemnation.

The rest of them had stayed back from this scene, probably sensing that further interference wasn't wanted, but they all looked disconcerted. As though a year hadn't passed, we were all on keen alert, ready to do battle. After all, we'd come here to mourn, and been ambushed. Granted, it was one of the animals who'd been injured, but an attack on them was an attack on our group nonetheless. I moved closer, deliberately keeping wide of Casavir, who was inching towards Rhella as well but still scanning the area with a fierce intensity. "Hurts," she said gruffly, as I laid a hand on her uninjured shoulder.

I patted her clumsily, and was about to reply when I froze at the sight of the arrow. Oh yes, I definitely could tell Casavir a thing or three about the archer in question.

The arrow was a duskwood shaft; a very heavy, deep-colored wood, and made unusually long too, for a bow with a massive draw. He valued sheer brutal power in his shots above accuracy or speed. Black dyed fletching; menacingly dark, but that extra effort to dye the quills spoke of vanity, or a wish to present some kind of image. The three black rings only added weight to that interpretation. I'd seen these arrows, all right, spent months seeing them in the same quarry I'd shot, in the same battles I'd fought. And I'd mocked him plenty about the sheer theatricality of his uniformly dark arrows too.

If he was hunting for meat, at least he wouldn't have used a poisoned arrow, thank the gods. And for all I criticized his faults, at least he'd never just hunt an animal to kill it for no reason. But I wouldn't have put it beyond him to use one of his barbed arrowheads to cause more damage and make his prey bleed to death faster. What in the hells he'd been thinking trying to drop such a big, fierce critter with a single shot was beyond me…and if he had any brain in his head, he'd realize there was something odd about a _winter bear _in this area before shooting it.

"Bishop, you lousy _sheepfucker_," I hissed between my teeth, swiftly heading towards fury myself. Would the man never stop causing problems for me and mine? Loviator must really have enjoyed him being my brother and thus forever tied to me, because the man had caused me more than his due share of misery and problems.

Said accused sheepfucker appeared then from the bushes as if summoned by magic, reaching over his shoulder for another arrow. Of course he had stuck around to finish the job. He didn't have the sense to get lost after that kind of colossal stupidity. He stared at me hovering over Rhella, and Casavir between him and his prey. "Bishop," Casavir spoke, his voice deceptively soft, though I could see his body drawn tense as a coiled spring. "What in the hells do you think you're doing?"

Bishop stared at Casavir, his features twisted, pale brown eyes burning with rage and hate. "Back off, paladin," he spat. He stepped forward, making to move past Casavir towards Rhella.

"You have about three seconds to explain yourself," Casavir said, putting his arm out to bar Bishop from passing or get a clear shot.

"I'm hunting. Get out of my way." He nocked the arrow to his bow and started to raise it, shoving past Cas. Cas grabbed Bishop's shoulder and turned him back. Bishop threw off Cas' hand, snarled defiantly at him. "I've had _enough_ of your fucking meddling!"

Something was wrong here, even for Bishop. Sheer temper wasn't his usual style. And where in the hells was Brienne Starfire, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on him? Very useful woman she proved to be: Bishop bent on mayhem, Casavir teetering on the edge of black rage, me trying to keep Rhella calmed down and examine her wound, and Brienne nowhere to be found. And, of course, none of the others at my back were going to be much help since they'd probably all volunteer to kill Bishop in a heartbeat. They must have decided that as leader, and since it was Cas' bear who'd been attacked, ours was the right to deal with him, unless I said otherwise. Funny, I thought, how after a year away, things just instinctively slid smoothly back into the old ways like a set of well-oiled gears.

"That bear'smine…and she's going to be a very nice rug on my floor," Bishop insisted.

"She's _mine_," Casavir snapped in return. Rhella gave a soft rumble of approval at that. The niceties apparently concluded and without peaceful agreement reached, his next move was to give Bishop his best right cross directly to the face. Bishop's head snapped back, and with some strange detachment, I couldn't help but think, as I always had, that the distinctive sound of a breaking nose was really rather gruesome: that grinding, meaty, popping sort of _crack_.

The force and the pain made Bishop stumble back a few steps, and finally some of the fury Casavir had been letting boil came out when he shouted, "I thought you had _changed_, you worthless bastard! You told me you had!" Oh gods, if I thought he'd been angry with _me _by the river a few tendays before, that had just been a simple hint of this.

Bishop wiped underneath his nose, saw the snot and blood on his fingers and raised an eyebrow. Scrubbing his hand on his trousers, he smirked back at Casavir. "Well, now, that's more like it." Half-turning and dropping the bow to the grass, he raised his own fists in answer.

_You have __got__ to be kidding me._ I'd spent so much time trying to keep these two from killing each other, and it was only Casavir's patience that had kept it from flaring into an explosion. Of course, I'd been inclined to think Casavir took it with too much grace. If he'd popped Bishop one in the face like he just had, I wouldn't have objected except for the fact that I was sure any fight between them would have escalated into a deadly one with weapons. And either outcome there would have been a loss. Casavir being killed was a black pit of unthinkable grief. Bishop being killed would still have upset me too, although I'd also have felt terrible for Cas, knowing how hard he would take being goaded into a deadly fight after having it happen with Harcus Valessar.

So a lot of my efforts then had been directed towards avoiding that fight, though for me, it always felt like a losing battle. Someday, Bishop would push Casavir too far; it was pretty much inexorable. If I hadn't chased Bishop out of the Vale, I had the feeling they would have finally clashed there.

Seemed like today was the day the inevitable finally would happen. As they circled, it looked like neither of them was reaching for blades, content to just try to kick the shit out of each other rather than fight to kill. Rhella, of course, was grumbling approval at Casavir's willingness to scrap, despite the pain in her shoulder. "Hold _still_," I said, giving her a reproachful smack on her flank, "or do you want to have this stuck in you for the whole winter?"

"Not want to watch mate fight?" she asked curiously.

I snorted, glancing up to see the two of them still circling warily like a pair of wolves, searching for advantage and weaknesses. After having waited so long for the chance to sort things out, it looked like neither of them was going to waste the opportunity by being rash. "Not much to see yet. And if he loses, I'm sure as hell not mating with the other one, Rhella. He's my brother." She looked at me, confused at that concept, since most bears didn't know their sire and a lot of them might have shared blood. "I'll explain later," I muttered. "Besides, trust me, Casavir's not going to lose."

Bishop might have been spoiling for a fight with our group's paladin from the get-go, but that was a damn fool idea on his part. But he must have known he'd pay for his fun eventually when he went that wee bit too far and set Cas off. I knew his way of fighting, and he excelled at ranged battle, and at stealthy, assassin-style attacks. Simply going toe-to-toe and giving out blows and enduring the pain of being hit himself wasn't his strength. And doing that with a man for whom melee combat was a way of life, and who was stronger than him and severely pissed off besides…well, nobody ever had attributed much wisdom to Bishop's account, had they?

They'd progressed to testing each other out now, tentative feints and quick jabs, constantly in motion. Neither of them was willing to attack in earnest just yet. I had the feeling Bishop knew once he committed he was done for and was hoping to exploit a moment of weakness to avoid it, and that the more sensible part of Casavir was hoping to just wait the thing out until Bishop gave up. Rhella growled her encouragement to Casavir, and I finally gave up myself. Trying to remove an arrow on a fidgeting bear, while hearing the sound of traded insults nearby, was too much for my frayed patience. Touching her with a quick healing spell to take away the pain until we could extract the arrow, I turned to watch the proceedings, such as they were.

Brienne Starfire conveniently came running out of the woods just then, drawn by the ruckus. But of course she was far too late to rein in her errant charge. "Nice of you to show," I commented, unable to help some reproach in my tone, folding my arms over my chest.

She gave me a sharp glower, and demanded, "What in all the _hells _happened here?"

"Bishop attacked Cas' companion," I nodded to Rhella, who was still surveying the fight with clear excitement. "Cas got understandably pissed off, tried to stay calm, and ended up punching him in the face when he insisted on trying to shoot Rhellakys here again. Bishop decided a brawl would be the perfect end to the afternoon…and that's where we stand, I think. Not much of a fight, though, since nobody's actually throwi—oh, never mind." Bishop had finally gotten bored with dancing around and managed to sneak in an actual punch that clipped Casavir on the cheek, to which Casavir neatly socked him in the right eye.

Just like that, the flurry of blows began, and silence except for the occasional grunt of exertion or pain. "Oh, for the _gods' _sakes," Brienne sighed, stepping forward. Naturally, she chose to appeal to the ostensibly more sensible of the two men, although I had the feeling that having been shoved off the edge, Cas was a lost cause. She hadn't seen him in the Sword Mountains or with me on campaign. When he was the _Katalmach_, hewas a terrifying force; once he gave himself over to a fight, he just didn't quit until his opponent was on the ground. "_Casavir! _That's enough!" She barked it with an unconscious tone of command and an expectation of obedience.

Apparently my husband took exception to it as well, because he risked turning towards her, dodging Bishop's fist, long enough to bark in return, "I don't answer to you any longer!" He paid for the distraction by almost getting a knee to the groin, turning just enough to take the blow on his inner thigh. Still hurt like the hells, I was sure; that was a sensitive area.

"Ha, you tell her—"

"_Shut up!_" That was punctuated by Casavir splitting Bishop's lip. He just laughed wildly, spat the blood on the grass, and got Casavir a solid one in the ribs.

I heard Brienne start to sing the Tyrran chant to summon a paladin's calming aura, to settle the two of them down. Putting a hand on her arm, I shook my head. "Don't do it."

"You want them to keep this up?" she said with incredulity, and maybe a touch of scorn.

I leveled her with a glacial stare, trying to remind her that she hadn't had a place in Casavir's life in over thirteen years, and that she'd known Bishop all of a few tendays. Compared to me, she didn't get much of a say on the matter. "You have any idea how much time I spent trying to keep those two from murder in the past? They don't have weapons now, and they're not monks. They won't kill each other."

"Good gods," she murmured, shaking her head and sighing like a schoolteacher gravely disappointed a bunch of unruly pupils.

"Look," I said bluntly, "Bishop's been yapping and snipping at Cas for a long time, and for some reason Cas hasn't put him in his place like he should. Seeing a strong man like that just take it over and over isn't a pleasant sight."

"So you advocate violence instead?" she said, incredulous.

"I just want him to stand up for himself, whether with words or actions." _And he's been learning to do that this month, Brienne Starfire, and I won't take that from him. He's earned the pride of it._ He'd stood by me through everything in this last month, dealing with all of my problems without asking anything in return. And Bishop had constantly asked for a beating in my mind, with every sneered condescension and mockery of Casavir and his ideals. It showed Cas to be a better man that he hadn't done that, although I'd told him that answering back wasn't a sin by any means. But now an attack on Rhella, as dear to him as Marrin and I were, was something he had to answer. I wasn't going to get in his way. Hells, I was going to support him wholeheartedly on this one.

"He's always so ready to defend others, but not himself. Unusual, isn't that? Could be that idiot Aribeth de Tylmarande made him believe that he didn't matter, only the cause, and besides, if he wasn't perfect and polite and in control _every stinking moment _he'd turn into a raving homicidal lunatic." Suffice it to say; based on what Casavir had told me—and what he hadn't—I wasn't exactly keen on his former master. Her ideals weren't great for instructing anyone, but they'd been particularly harsh on a passionate but sensitive spirit like Casavir. His skin wasn't half as thick as he liked people to think, though he was good at hiding it.

"She was gravely mistaken, I'd agree. Still…"

"This is how it is with males, Brienne. Sometimes two of them just have to sort things out and determine who's stronger. Bishop's challenged Cas long enough, and hells, I think he could use some humility at the hands of a paladin. You've hopefully given him some of that in the last few tendays."

A smile touched her lips at that. "I admit he stops his nonsense quickly if you call him out on it. He certainly could use some further humility, I will admit—Ilmaterian and all that." One auburn eyebrow rose as she glanced towards the two of them, just in time to see Bishop take a solid blow to the gut that left him doubled over and gasping for air like a landed fish, which Casavir swiftly followed with a massive right to the jaw that must have had Bishop seeing stars. Aided by Cas sweeping his legs out from under him, he ended up in a heap on the grass. "It really is sort of ridiculous, though."

"No more so than women bitching and hissing at each other," I pointed out. "Look, they haven't got weapons. We can patch 'em up after the fight, see, Bishop might actually admit he was a moron, and all's well." I glanced towards her, curious. "Where were you, anyhow?"

"I was tending camp. He said he was going hunting. He's…kept to himself a great deal these last few days." She bit her lip, sighed. "I've tried to draw him out as best I might, get him to speak of it, but he's not a man given to sharing his emotions or his confidences."

"You have no idea," I said dryly. Really, she probably didn't.

"He shot the bear, you said," Brienne said slowly, and I sensed she was looking at Rhella. "Oh, _damn_."

"Yeah, he did. That's what started this, remember?" I had the sense she was trying to tell me something, but I was admittedly distracted by the fact that Bishop was still on the ground, and Cas had one knee in the middle of his back, doing his level best to keep Bishop's hands restrained. The two of them were panting like dogs, bleeding and sweating, and Bishop was still bucking madly trying to get loose while Casavir insisted he yield.

"Guess that's about it. We'd best let 'em walk it off," I suggested. For my part, I wanted to examine them and make sure they weren't actually badly injured; I suspected a concussion wasn't out of the question on Bishop's part from that last punch to the head that had knocked him down. But beyond that, I wasn't too tempted to heal them up. Let them lick their own wounds, and have the soreness and bruises in the next few days drive the point home for both of them.

"Let me go with Casavir," she requested urgently, already starting towards him. "We need to talk…" All right, she'd probably be able to calm him down with that aura, if need be, and I wasn't exactly sure what I'd say to him myself. There weren't any suggestions regarding your husband and brother beating each other bloody. Of course I supported Casavir on this one, but really…still nothing good to say about it. After so long trying to keep these two from mayhem, I was glad that they'd maybe just gotten it out of their systems. But that didn't mean it had been a pleasant thing.

I glanced at Bishop, slowly hauling himself to his feet with a glower Casavir's way. His misfortune to try baiting the man he'd journeyed with, rather than the one who'd come here today. "Fine, missy," I muttered, "_you _take the easy one. Thanks."

Before I could make sure he was all right, Bishop turned towards the woods and stalked off. From the awkward way he held himself and walked, he was obviously in some pain: small wonder. Even Casavir was moving stiffly, that hit to his leg telling now in a definite limp. Bishop had gotten thrashed, all right, but not without giving a decent account of himself.

"Well," I said, blinking and watching Bishop stomping through the underbrush and Casavir storming off with Brienne, "maybe now they can sit at a table together and behave rather than just annoying all of us."

"Does somebody want to tell me," Neeshka demanded a little shrilly, "what he was doing here?"

"He had no right," Khelgar growled fiercely, raising a clenched fist. "Not after what he did. Bad enough the lad invaded yer Keep in Eleasias, lassie, but to come _here_ today…"

That was a very good question, really. What _was_ Bishop doing here? He'd betrayed us at Crossroads Keep, but it was here that he'd actually stood against us, ready to kill us all. Maybe this was the next stop on his little redemption tour, another wayshrine where he needed to stop and ask forgiveness. But then again, trying insistently to murder someone's bonded companion wasn't exactly fitting that plan. As usual, I was forced to admit that with Bishop, things made very little sense.

I sighed, turning back towards Rhella. The bear regarded me with something almost like glee in her brown eyes. "Cas fight well," she announced proudly, and with a somewhat lofty condescension towards Falyris, Rollo, and Naloch. "_My_ bonded."

Naloch snorted, black and white snout in the air to look up at her, stretching lazily. "Knew that. Saw him in battle when you were probably still cub."

Rhella whuffed apologetically to Naloch. "Hold _still_, will you?" I urged her. "Ellie, you wanna give me a hand here?"

Elanee handed Marrin, now grumbling in protest herself thanks to being woken by the noise, off to a surprised Sand and moved to assist me. Her slim, deft hands sent a quick calming spell towards Rhella. Before long, the bear was still standing on her three good paws, but her head was drooping and she was snoring softly.

"What's this about Bishop at your Keep?" Sand demanded, staying out of the way of our little surgery and holding Marrin protectively close to his chest. Gods be thanked, my daughter appeared to like Uncle Sand—elven charm, most like. I imagined my moon elf friend probably wasn't enjoying his long hair being used as a curiosity and plaything by a four-month-old human baby. But he put up with it. "You mean the idiot boy had the _temerity _to return…"

"Yep," I said tersely, breaking the arrow's shaft near the head. "And if you looked on his wrists, you'd see tattoos of Ilmater. Apparently he had something of a revelation while we were out east. He came to the castle to apologize, if you can believe that."

"I find that idea very difficult, Lianna."

"Trust me," Neeshka answered him, "if I hadn't been there to see it, I wouldn't have thought it possible either." I listened idly, thankful that neither she nor Khelgar brought up the fact that I'd tried to order him hanged, and that Cas and I had argued pretty fiercely about it in front of everyone. Sometimes the whole truth isn't exactly what's needed.

"I don't know what he's doing here in the Vale," I answered honestly. "El, can I have your knife…yeah, thanks. And I don't know why he attacked Rhella here either. But I'm not inclined to ask just at the moment."

Elanee handed me her slim herb collecting knife and gave a low humming noise that told me she was considering the matter. She looked at me across the massive, shaggy hump of muscle that was Rhella's shoulders, her wood-brown eyes suddenly thoughtful. "Rhellakys is here with us," she remarked. I carefully cut in around the arrowhead, hoping her knife wasn't going to make the wound much worse, but it was much finer than the dagger at my waist. A scalpel would be better. Our camp was a bit of a walk, deliberately away from the taint of Merdalain, or else I'd have gone digging in Casavir's saddlebags. Ilmaterian-trained in healing, and being forced to refine the mundane skills in the years he hadn't used divine magic, he was in the habit of carrying a small surgeon's kit when we were on the trail. Spells, after all, weren't always the best answer to everything. "So too are Rollo, Naloch, and Falyris."

"Point taken," I grunted, tugging at the arrowhead and feeling it give a bit. It didn't catch on the muscle as I pulled, so thank Mielikki, Bishop hadn't used a barbed point. And by the direction and location of the wound, it hadn't hit bone either. No vital organs or vessels: a poor shot from him. That was somewhat unusual. Then again, he'd been acting pretty strangely the entire time…even for Bishop. "I don't follow your meaning, though." I wasn't in the mood for the elven love of cryptic pronouncements just now. "Talk plain to the human, please."

"His _ilanaak _got in a fight, Lianna, and you know how defensive companions are of their bonded. Don't you expect we should have seen Karnwyr by now?"

I glanced around, not seeing the familiar smoke-grey fur, wagging tail, and brown eyes anywhere in sight. "Is he nearby?" Her druid senses were better at sensing the spirit of an animal in the wild. No need for excellent tracking skills like mine when she had that level of connection to nature.

While I continued carefully cutting the arrow free and Rhella thankfully dozed, Elanee closed her eyes and cast her senses out into the living forest around us. I saw her shudder, suppressing a violent retch as her natural powers clashed up against the spiritual rot and filth of the place where the King of Shadows had died. But she persisted, despite the misery and difficulty of the task. I finally wiggled the last of the point free, stopping the bleeding with a quick spell, and putting some of my healing powers into speeding the wound to recovery. Elanee's eyes opened, her shoulders sagging with the effort, and beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. "He's not here."

I went to throw the arrowhead and shaft into the sunken pit, figuring they ought to lie there amongst all the other evils of this place. "Oh, damn."


	22. Good Night and Good Luck

The Phoenix Hope

_Chapter 22: Good Night and Good Luck_

_**Brienne**_

_Marpenoth 30, 1386 DR_

To be perfectly honest, it had been a vexing day thus far. Not the least was Bishop's attitude, though of course it made his actions make a lot of sense. I had suggested to him that we might break off his journey to this place; he was in little shape to meet his friends and to pay respects to the battle fought. Tyr knew he had enough grief at the moment already. His only answer had been a mulish, "I don't take orders from you, _paladin_," with a glimmer of boiling fury in his eyes. Normally I wasn't the sort to let that sort of crap stand—it was childish and incorrect anyhow since there was not even a sniff of an order about my words. Besides, that sign of nasty temper wasn't encouraging. But I was inclined to give him some breathing room; he was hurting greatly, and looking for somewhere to vent it. That was my mistake. My giving him latitude had played its part in Casavir's companion being injured, and the two of them at each others' throats.

So we'd come here, arriving early this morning. He'd pitched in to make camp, which I appreciated—problems he may have had, but he was no shirker when it came to work. I sensed in part he was looking for some distraction, though. That completed, he'd fidgeted like a boy with a jar of acid ants poured into his undertrews, and finally popped to his feet like a sprung jester-box and grunted that he was going hunting. It was the first he had attempted it since encountering the bear. I thought it an encouraging sign, maybe part of his process of overcoming what had happened. Admittedly too, the thought of fresh meat—fresh _anything_, for that matter—caught my attention. We'd been on meals of stringy jerked elk and travel-cake for days.

I'd gone walking myself after a small while of fussing over laying the makings of a fire, unpacking a few things, and finally deciding I had nothing better to do. Quickly enough I found that he wouldn't find too many animals nearby—so much for my blissful thoughts of a tender venison steak. The closer I approached that cold, slimy feeling of corruption, the quieter things grew without the ordinary sounds of the wild that still surrounded the unearthly dead zone.

Quiet, except for the song: first little more than a ghost chant in the wind, but growing in strength as I found the source, drawn to this sign of life like a helpless moth. My heart seemed to slam painfully against my ribs—first for the tune, the ethereal beauty and majesty of the Rites for the Justly Fallen, but unaccompanied by instruments and other singers as I was accustomed to. The sound of the lone voice gave me another twist of mingled joy and pain as I knew who it must belong to; who it was that would be here today, with knowledge of Tyrran hymns.

Of course I hadn't heard him sing that one night when we met at an inn by chance, he bound with his companions for a wizard's stronghold in the northern mountains, me headed for Luskan. That had been an encounter of a few brief hours after so many years. Hearing him sing now, his voice fully settled into the rich sound of a man's deep baritone timbre, I couldn't help but think of lurking in the back of the temple, not wanting to be seen, and hearing him learn this song from Oleff Uskar. He had been…what, twelve, thirteen? He'd had a boy's voice then, high and light and pure, lending a sweet earnestness to the song. He sang it wonderfully, each note perfect. But he had been naïve then, young and untouched by the worst of the world.

More than its depth, though, something in the tone of his singing, a thread of sentiment woven in, fully marked his shift from boy to man. I couldn't describe it as anything but sheer knowledge, full of wistfulness and pain and hope and tenderness. It was a hard-won insight of the hymn as something more than an abstract tribute to heroes both great and small, gaining that painful, bone-deep familiarity with loss and death. I knew from what I had heard that Cas was a man who'd felt the brush of Kelemvor's hand times beyond measure. But hearing him sing, I finally _understood _it, because nothing else would have given his voice that haunting beauty that brought tears to my eyes. Even the wavering of some notes seemed like an evocative trill.

_He's a man now_, I thought as I stood there, dumbstruck and faced with the relentless truth of it. I didn't even need to see him, what further changes might have been wrought on him in a year and a half, to realize it. I had seen him then, and undeniably he'd matured physically, but now I saw with stunning clarity what maturity was etched deep in his spirit. _Gods, help me._

Before I could even start to imagine what I might say to him, of how to begin to possibly forge anew a friendship between us, his song cut off abruptly two verses from the end as I heard a deep-throated roar of pain. I was in a cold sweat until I realized it had been a large animal, not a man. Still, next it was certainly two men I heard shouting, and both of them voices that were known to me. _Bishop, Casavir, what did you __do__?_

I arrived just in time for the brawl to begin. Unfortunately, I couldn't stop it. And by what Casavir's wife told me, the thing had been coming with the force of inevitability for years. I hadn't known that the conditions were right for a flare-up. Granted, I'd seen Bishop's raw state after what had happened in the woods. I'd known he was on edge, and I should have kept a better eye on him. I might have known that the ferocity of his pain was enough to cause him to make reckless moves like shooting first and asking questions later.

But how could I have known that he and Casavir had an existing enmity, when neither of them had been willing to come out and say how deep it ran? And certainly the knowledge that Cas now had a bear in his family was something I couldn't have possessed. Neither had Bishop, for that matter: for all his lashing out at an innocent creature, he hadn't intended to harm Cas by it. It was all one massive string of small instances of mischance heaped on one another. Still, I had the strange feeling that if she could somehow have laid the blame for this at my door, Lady Lianna Erelissohn would have done so. She kept looking at me suspiciously with her forest-hazel eyes, as if wondering what designs I had on him. _Hurt him again, _her sharp gaze and her brusque tones said, _and you'll wish you'd never been born._

Well enough; there were days that I almost thought that, knowing there must be worthier souls than mine. But Tyr had given my life fresh purpose after I had walked deep into in darkness. I wasn't the confused, cowardly, self-centered woman I'd been then. I was as likely to hurt Casavir again as Lianna was to have actually destroyed the village of Ember.

At least she let me take him away to talk. I admitted she might deal better with her brother than I would at this juncture. I'd apparently failed him these past few days. Plus I had my share of questions for Cas. Once, of course, he settled down from grunting and stomping like an irritated stallion. I muttered the spell for my calming aura, and I knew that he realized I'd done it, because he turned to give me a look as hard and cold as the Great Glacier. He shook it off, assuming a more normal expression. I hadn't hit him with that much calming influence, so his ire must have already been on a sharp decline. "I'm fine," he said, his tones still a bit clipped and brisk, "so please stop treating me like a blastglobe about to go off."

"Sorry," I apologized. But what was I to think? I'd just watched him fighting with Bishop like a pair of caged wolves, a thing of sheer strength and anger and violence. In some way, I still wanted him to the boy I'd known years ago, pleasant and gentle and eager to do a good turn for the world. After all, that gave me clear chance to undo the wrong I had visited on him in those days. Even seeing him for that evening last year hadn't shaken that impression much; that night, he'd talked mostly of his hopeless love for Captain Lianna Thirsk, desperate to unburden his cares to a fellow paladin. I hadn't asked him about his quest or the troubles that lay behind or ahead—that night he'd needed to speak of his heart more than anything. Maybe it was easier for me as well; that didn't challenge my sweeter memories of him as hearing of the tireless campaign would have. Even the rumors I'd heard of him, of a scourge of the orcs named _Katalmach_, of a shining beacon of hope who stood by his lady's side, seemed vague dreams at best.

I had no chance of denying the facts now: he wasn't the boy who had been Aribeth's apprentice any longer, as I had secretly wanted him to be. What I had heard in his song was an unavoidable truth that had hit me with the shock of a gut punch. Today, finally, I was forced to fully acknowledge that Cas was a man grown. He had moved past those shared, sweet days; there could be no return to the place where our joined paths had diverged. All I could do now was try to make a new tie of friendship to his life. And that began be recognizing him for what he now was. Seeing him for what I wanted him to be rather than his true self had been my flaw, and not one I wished to repeat. He was thirty now, a fine paladin in his own right, and a lord of a great regional garrison. He had fought battles beyond number. He found that sweet, needed balance of love and duty in a paladin's life; giving his heart to a woman who shared his fierce devotion, who had borne his daughter. And too, he had a man's strength, both of sinew and of passion, for well and for ill.

That had elevated what I had just seen from schoolboy brawling to dangerous levels, no matter how Lianna tried to dismiss it as a natural male tendency to blow off steam. She was right in that there was a clear struggle for dominance between them, but there was also significant bad blood and feelings long scraped raw. Casavir was too polite to say so, but Bishop had made his enmity for my old friend well known to me in the past tendays with his constant japes and jibes. It wasn't the amicable sort of teasing, either. He genuinely wanted to belittle Cas at every turn; a male taking a chance to downplay a rival whose power he feared. It grew tiresome, so I'd been thankful when he started to curb himself from doing it. It had taken more than a few times of my calling him out on the behavior, though.

Cas was about a foot taller than me and thus had a significant advantage in stride, but the limp from injury slowed him to my pace. He could have healed the wounds in an instant—I sensed divine power rooted thick in him, a surprising amount compared even to our encounter last year—but instead he chose to suffer and endure, at least for the moment. And I wondered now if Bishop Rettikar had been a pain he'd borne as well. He'd led me to believe that they were friends when he'd written to me to suggest the ranger as a scout and potential partner for my Luskan expeditions, but I'd seen friends brawling many times in the past. They knocked heads a bit and were usually drinking ale and laughing ten minutes later, long before they really hurt each other.

No, there was the passion of near-hatred in the quarrel, in the words and blows exchanged. Lianna had admitted as such when she'd told me that she'd spent so much time trying to keep them from mayhem in the past. I had the feeling that success was in large part due to Cas' tight self-control, but it sounded as though Lianna had kept Bishop on task as much as she could. If she'd put up with it for well over a year, her patience was impressive indeed.

And knowing Casavir's character, I could only speculate what manner of man I'd _really _spent my last few tendays with to so inspire that level of feeling. Bishop was abrasive, yes, and certainly cocky. But that to me was a petty annoyance at worst, and I suspected it was just so much chest puffery on his part anyhow. Who had he shown himself to be during those months with Lianna Thirsk, to so earn the contempt and scrutiny of a paladin?

I didn't want to ask. Maybe some part of me didn't want the answer, because all that mattered to me was what he showed me of himself now. After all, I was the last person who could feel qualified to judge a person based on their past. But I could guess well enough that the faith of Ilmater, and selfless action, were something of a new concept to him. _I thought you had changed!_ Casavir had yelled at him in fury.

Well. If Bishop was a man seeking to escape a darker past, then he had some of my sympathies on the matter. Clearly he had suffered greatly as a boy in Luskan captivity. The soul damage that Luskan caused was a thing I understood as few would. And I knew from experience that finding the way towards a better life after dwelling in shadow was no easy road. That still begged the question of why, if he disliked and distrusted the man, Cas had sent him to _me _with a glowing review of his skills. I supposed he could appreciate Bishop's abilities while bitterly disagreeing with his personality, but as a recommendation, that seemed like a fine piece of hair-splitting. _Very Tyrran, _I thought, hiding a smile.

To ask directly didn't seem prudent. So I began my questioning carefully. "The bear is yours?" I asked him. I stopped walking now that we were safely away from the others—that, and watching him limp like that almost made _me _ache—and leaning myself comfortably up against the gnarled trunk of an oak.

He nodded, running a fretful hand with bruised knuckles through his hair. "Aye, she's my companion." I knew from studying the lore during my apprenticeship at the temple that it was unusual for a paladin to have something besides a horse, but certainly not unheard of. It usually depended on the personality and divine plan of the paladin involved. "She's named Rhellakys, sent to me by both Tyr, and Okku, the bear-god of the east, who chose me as one of his own while I was in Rashemen." Well, that explained some of it. "And…a few tendays ago, Tyr…well, he came to speak to me when I thought all was lost in my life." He gave an almost bashful expression which would have made him look endearing but for the bruises and swollen cheek. "I suppose you could say I finally found my true self, and my destiny. And she arrived as part of that."

"I sensed it," I commented. "Tyr's grace is strong with you now." It was the difference between candleflame and a hearthfire. His aura didn't merely glow comfortably with the light of divine favor—he _shone_. Finally accepted his destiny, he had said, and Tyr had answered that wisdom. Some part of me couldn't help but fear for him, imagining what darkness he would face that he would need so much illumination of the Evenhanded to endure it. He was strong enough, I was sure, but that didn't mean I greeted the prospect with any kind of pleasure.

"I think I'll need it," he said, as if reading my mind. A rueful laugh was cut short by battered ribs. "Ow, _gods_. We're going up against the entire Council, you know, Lia and I."

"Congratulations are in order, I understand…Lord Erelissohn." Yes, the core of him was still the same, if older and wiser and more confident.

"Don't start with the bowing and scraping, Brienne." He said it lightly, but with a hint of long-suffering. "I still bleed like any other man." He must have thought of the cuts now on his face, as he smiled sheepishly. "So you see."

"Don't make too much light of it. It seems to me that you could do a great deal of good by making use of the authority of that position. And, some would say, it's a place that's been yours by rights since you were young."

"Please," he burst out, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes, "you're going to tell me that my years in the wilds, actually _helping _people, are of less worth than if I had accepted Aribeth's title and place in the Nine, and just sat on my ass debating silk tariffs and other such useless shit?"

"I wouldn't say that at all," I said coolly. Apparently he hadn't entirely burned out the fire of his wrath. But unlike Bishop, I wasn't spoiling to flare his temper up. A strong man given over to fury was well-nigh unstoppable. One demonstration of such frightful power was enough for this waning year for my taste, let alone this single day. "But you're both bound to Crossroads Keep. Might as well accept the places on the Council and assure that _someone _there has the interests of the commons at heart."

"So I've told Lia," he admitted, calming himself, crossing his arms over his chest. "Neither of us is greatly looking forward to the gods-awful bother of it, but the only reasons to not accept the chance to do so much good seemed selfish and cowardly."

"You've earned it, and yours is a spirit that won't be corrupted by that sort of authority."

"You think so, do you?" He raised one black eyebrow in question, blue eyes wide.

"I know so. I didn't say it when you were younger. Gods know I should have. I was too busy criticizing everything I thought was wrong in you, when I was really only loathing myself. But…I _am _proud of you, Casavir." I stretched up on tiptoe, managing to reach his cheek and kiss it lightly. "You've grown to be a fine man. You'll be a great noble of Neverwinter. And a far better paladin than I ever will."

"Now don't say that," he coaxed me with that winning smile, putting a large, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You're not running from your past, Brienne. You've accepted it, used it to give you strength on this path."

"You always did think the best of everyone." Unlike me in the past; I'd seen too much of the darker corners of the soul to be so very charitable. It had taken Tyr to show mea different way. For all some thought he was a stern and harsh deity, Tyr was mild, almost fatherly, in many aspects. A patient god, one able to wait years for Casavir to finally grow into his full potential, for someone broken like me to come to an ability to accept the grace and opportunity he offered.

"Too many forget that there's much good in the world on the whole. It far outweighs the rotten apples. I've seen great evils, but I've seen far more acts of courage and of charity."

I laughed, unable to help it. "You'll never believe otherwise, will you?" He shook his head, smiling thoughtfully. "Good. Don't." _May he never lose his way_, I thought. _He may not know it, but he bears that divine light quite well. Just to be around such steadfast faith gives strength to anyone who can believe in it._

I was trying to be discreet about it, but he beat me to the punch and simply laid the matter on the table. "So, how was your venture in Luskan?"

"Are you asking about the task at hand, or how Mister Rettikar performed as my partner?"

He gave a dismissive shrug, spreading his hands. "Either. Both." He paused, gave another awkward hitch of his shoulders. "The former first, however."

"We got six women out of the brothels on Silk Street. They're at the House of Healing right now." Word had been sent to the families of Jhoss and Aorine, and Aliya's family had already been reunited with her. It had made the entire venture worth it, I thought, to see the joy and the tears on the face of her mother and two sisters. Bishop actually hadn't had a barbed comment for it, and hadn't run away from the sight. He'd even clumsily accepted their thanks, though he'd slunk off at the first opportunity. Bloody embarrassed oaf—it had been somewhat amusing, actually, to see him unsettled and speechless for once.

"They're in good hands there. And well done."

I sighed, unable to help myself, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes at the memory of Luskan and the threat of rising nausea. The Prisoner's Carnival, that ecgona seller peddling his poison on the corner to people desperate for any escape from misery…his reaction made me suspect that narcotics were a particular sore point with Bishop. Whether they offended him as an Ilmaterian because of they destroyed everything they touched, or if the reason was far more personal, I wasn't sure. "I hate that fucking city. I hate going there, Cas, and I hate leaving with only a handful of them." The night after we'd left, I'd desperately wanted a bath. I'd scrubbed myself almost raw in the baths at the Halls of Justice before I'd let myself meet with Oleff. He wouldn't have cared, but I couldn't bear to bring the filth of Luskan and its mockery of justice into the offices of the Reverend Justiciar of Neverwinter.

"I know," he said, his voice low and soothing. "Luskan is a festering sore on this earth. But…take joy in the small victories. And you still do it, and you make a difference, though it costs you dearly every time. That's what matters most." He gave me that charming, whimsical smile again. "I was often told as an apprentice that courage means knowing that the right thing is difficult, and choosing to do it regardless. One of Aribeth's better lessons."

"I suppose it is," I agreed with him. That was wisdom from an unlikely source, but not to be discounted simply for who had spoken it. I knew well enough that there were no absolutes on the mortal planes. Besides, she certainly hadn't originated that sentiment. "As for Bishop, he was a pain in the ass when he opened his mouth. Couldn't stop talking about you, really. But he performed the job magnificently. I've already asked him to come with me again come spring." The first winter snows, which would be upon us in just a tenday or so, would keep us from making another run until then.

Cas absorbed that, looking pensive, brows drawing together. "Did you sense…well," he began, grimacing a little, and I knew he was choosing his words with particular care. What was he concealing from me? "Did he do the job willingly, or only under duress?"

I looked at him, the mystery of Bishop now only deepening. "Willingly," I finally said. "He was quite eager, in fact." Small wonder, when I heard about his past. I knew the Luskan army was brutal. "Do you know about his history?"

He gave a wry grunt of amusement. "More than I care to, perhaps," he said half to himself. "I'm aware he hates Luskan. That was part of why I thought this mission might be a good fit for him."

"But you thought he might be reluctant?" He just regarded me with a silent look of inscrutability. "Come _on_, Casavir. What's your strategy here?" After puzzling the matter over for the greater part of Marpenoth, I was eager for him to shed some light.

"It was a test. Bishop can be difficult to bear, but I thought his inspiration and skills might complement your quest. He's actually greatly improved from when I traveled with him, if you can believe that. I'm pleased to hear you found him to be a good match."

"Test?" I prompted him.

"Please don't ask me," he said, utterly polite in the sentiment. But paladins knew well enough that was pretty much our version of "Back off and shut up already," since if I pressed him, he'd be obliged to answer honestly. "I'll tell you as soon as I'm able."

I contented myself with that. "Very well. But that's my assessment. I want him." I said it decisively. I didn't want Casavir to think I was anything less than certain. Bishop was a risk, but not a needlessly reckless one, and one who came with a great deal of benefit. I could put up with some of his rough ways and his frequent lip to gain the qualities he brought to our venture.

He nodded. "Good." He cleared his throat, giving me a sheepish smile. "Since you were treated to the spectacle back there…er…tell me, has he been acting oddly the last few days?"

Oh, hells. I'd gotten so absorbed in catching up on matters and just enjoying his company, and trying to obtain information on Bishop, that I'd entirely forgotten the cause of today's brawl. I could mince words and draw the thing out, but I decided to just be blunt. "He's overconfident in the woods sometimes. A few days ago, he was attacked by a wood bear on the way here when he was hunting. He's all right—a claw wound on his leg that I healed up. But his companion wasn't so fortunate."

"Karnwyr?" Casavir questioned, his voice suddenly hushed with the instinctive respect and dampening of energy that accompanied speaking of death. "His wolf was killed?"

"Yes. He must have tried to save his _ilanaak_ from being mauled, and it bought Bishop enough time to shoot the bear."

"Oh, damn," he said, sighing deeply, sounding as if he felt the full weight of the tragedy. "Karnwyr…he was the only being that Bishop could dare to care about. Much as the rest of us tried."

"I know." It was obvious that he'd loved the wolf, in his own uncouth way. It had been a bad sight, to be honest, when I had gone searching for him just before dark. None of them were moving, which lent an eerie, deathly stillness to the scene.

Bishop was unconscious by a fallen pine, the grip of his bow loose in slack, pale fingers. The ground beneath him was darkened from blood from the wound on his right thigh. Not an artery severed, thank the gods, but he'd bled a good deal. He hadn't had the strength to move, but he'd managed to pull out a kerchief and apply it with some pressure on the injury with his right hand before passing out with shock.

The wood bear, thin for this late in autumn, was little more than an arm's length from him, the angle and location of the arrow shaft showing it had been shot neatly in the heart. An impressive feat, considering the archer had been on the ground and injured. It must have attacked him out of desperation to protect the food on its territory. I saw a deep wound on its throat from the blood-soaked fur there, probably from Karnwyr's teeth.

And the wolf had suffered the bear's full wrath for trying to save Bishop. He was a limp, crumpled heap of broken bones and bloody fur. I didn't ask Bishop how it had happened, because I knew he didn't want to discuss it. He probably relived it far too frequently in the days since Karnwyr had died. But I could imagine. One swat of a powerful paw had probably broken the poor animal's back, sent him flying and left him helpless. And then one snap of the jaws had crushed his skull.

I'd almost cried for the wolf's faithfulness and sacrifice—a paladin understood those things so well. But there was no time then. I'd gotten Bishop back to camp only with the aid of casting Bull's Strength. Then I'd cleaned the wound and healed it, poured restoratives down his throat to help him deal with the blood loss. He'd woken in the middle of the night, no sign of fever in his pale brown eyes. I'd known how crushed he was when he hadn't even tried to make a naughty remark about me having taken off his clothes. There had been nothing remotely sexual about seeing him naked, though. I'd surmised a good deal about his life from the many scars he bore. But I'd known they would be there. I'd seen the stiffness in some of his motions from old injuries and bones broken too often, and the shadowy loss of spirit in his eyes—the legacy of Luskan, writ on his soul and body in caustic ink.

The next morning, he got up early while I was still sleeping like the dead from the exertion of both physical and magic powers. Maybe he hadn't slept at all. He came back, limping only slightly on his right leg, shortly after I woke. The fresh hide of the bear was bundled underneath his arm, bloody and damp. From the dirt on his hands and underneath his fingernails, he must have dug a grave for his friend, tired and sore as he was.

The only words he'd spoken that entire day were to ask at breakfast if I had salt. I'd handed the pouch of it over, figuring he wanted some for his potatoes. Instead, he'd used it to cure the bear hide; from then on, it had stayed rolled up behind his saddle, presumably until he could fully tan it. Eluthje and Gwydon had both quietly complained to me about the smell of bear, but I had the feeling that asking him to leave it behind would be a bad idea. I knew the man's sort. It was his particular way of mourning. He meant to make a trophy of that bearskin as a tribute to his dead friend.

But he had barely spoken to me since then, though he'd allowed me to look at the wound the next night and deem it healed. "I'm sorry," I said apologetically. "I should have tried to speak to him, but I wanted to let him have his space to grieve. I didn't know that he was so enraged that the sight of another bear would make him want to kill it." And of course, in coming here I had no idea that Casavir now numbered a bear amongst his family.

He let out his breath in a slow sigh. "And a _winter _bear to boot—he knows the difference."

"Perhaps in his mind, Rhellakys being of a bigger and stronger species made her even more of a threat." I waved a hand to silence him, knowing he was going to protest that his companion wouldn't hurt anyone—at least, not without Casavir's approval. "Not that it excuses it, of course."

"No, but…she'll be all right. Take more than a badly shot arrow to bring her down." He smiled a little ruefully. "You saw her, pacing around and yelling encouragement for me. Gods, what a spirited girl she is." He rubbed his eyes tiredly with his fingertips, and it was a long moment before he met my gaze. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost her," he admitted frankly.

He would eventually, but I didn't remind him of that fact. It would have been cruel to strike at his happiness with his newfound companion by reminding him of its inevitable end, and it would have been even crueler because of what Bishop had just suffered. But everyone who bonded to an animal, unless their own life was cut short, would experience losing a _kammak_ at least once. Elves sometimes went through over a dozen companions in a lifetime, and even humans could count on two or three.

He gave a deep, heaving sigh, the sort that spoke of a glum weight settled upon the spirit. "He deserved to be thrashed for trying to kill her." But from the faint lift in tone at the end of the sentence, it was half a question. His sidelong glance at me to gauge my reaction confirmed it.

"If a brown-haired human woman had slain Karnwyr and Bishop had shot your wife because she vaguely resembled the huntress responsible, would you be asking whether he deserved to be beaten for it?" Granted, in the case of a human, then Bishop could have been hauled before a court to answer for attempted murder. Actually, as a lord, Casavir himself could pass judgment on him. That idle realization suddenly sharpened, came into focus like light hitting a cleanly cut facet of crystal. A niggling idea, no more than that…but it certainly gave me pause based on what I had seen today.

He looked at me in shock. "If he'd shot Lianna, he'd have been dead." He said it with an iron-hard finality.

"Rhellakys is now your family. If you're willing to kill to defend your wife and presumably your daughter, do you really need to _ask _if thrashing Bi—"

"_Brienne_," he said, cutting me off with a low rumble of warning in his tone, "I didn't want a lecture. I wanted advice. Thank you. That's sufficient."

From him, I didn't take that as a piece of rudeness. In fact, the willingness to cut me off before I got going on a lecture—and he was right, I'd been all spun up ready to deliver one—just spoke of the shift of things between us. "Cas," I said, taking a careful step closer to him. "Very well, you have the right of it. I was wrong." Both of us knew I spoke of far more than just that last exchange of words. "I was," I took a deep breath, "hoping that in time, we might be friends."

A wistful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'd be glad of it." He moved to put a hand on my arm, and once again I noticed how battered it was.

"Oh, for the gods' sakes," I said. "Hold still." I started to call on the healing spell. A minor touch of power, and his hurts were alleviated.

He looked at his hands, touched his formerly bruised and cut face. He smiled a little ruefully. "Lia probably won't be too pleased. I'm sure she had it in mind that both of us should suffer the discomfort as a lesson."

"I think the fight was lesson enough. I'll patch Bishop up when I find him again. I hope he's all right." He'd managed to stalk off quickly, at least.

"He probably is, physically. I didn't really hurt him. He may have deserved it, but I ought to talk to him. He shouldn't be left alone during a time like this."

"_Now _you're just being an idiot. You wounded his pride plenty, and going to him now will just make it feel like you're rubbing it in." Bishop would see it as either shameless gloating or pitying condescension, and I knew that pretty much anyone's pride loathed both of them. "Let me talk to him. He…" My words trailed off. I really had no idea how to classify things between us. I couldn't say that he trusted me, because I had the sense he trusted very few people, if any. He certainly didn't like me all that much.

"He," Casavir said with bone-dry sentiment, "dislikes you the least of anyone in this valley. Lianna might have been there in the past, but then she had the sheer poor taste to wed me. I think those are the words you're looking for."

I looked at the darkening skies above, the dusky purple of twilight, and then again at him. He was calm now, and I had the story of the events in the Vale. He'd make the others aware about Karnwyr, I was sure. "It's getting late. You were here to pay your respects, so maybe you want to finish that."

He gave a faint shudder. "I think we've had enough," he admitted softly. I could imagine. The yawning hole in the earth wasn't just tainted by the battle. Many places had seen death and blood and combat, but the same nauseating feeling wasn't there. Merdalain was tainted by the bitter hopelessness of life returning, like scorched, salted earth.

"Then go to them," I advised him. "Go home, Cas," or at least as much "home" as a temporary camp might be, "to your wife and your daughter."

He grasped my hand in his for a long moment. "I'm glad to see you wear the ring of a paladin," he admitted quietly. "Good night, Brienne." With that, he turned and walked away to the northwest, towards the campsite he and his fellows had made.

I watched him go until he disappeared into the shadows of the trees then gathered my cloak around myself. Not so much against the night; it was a fair evening for late Marpenoth. But suddenly I felt cold, as though eyes were watching me in this eerie place.

I had meant to make a prayer to the dead of the Battle of Merdalain, but found I couldn't bear it with that unsettling prickling awareness. So I headed back to our own camp, and found Bishop rooting in his saddlebags, crouched by his bedroll, muttering and cursing to himself.

I thought I'd ask if he was all right. It took all of two seconds before I realized it was an extremely stupid question. Eluthje and Gwydon had stopped their munching of the grass to eye him curiously. I knew the minute he left they'd be asking me what had happened, why he was so battered and moved so stiffly.

I spoke to his back, knowing that it would be better to alert him to my presence. I had no desire for him to turn around and shoot me because he was feeling jumpy and heard someone coming up unannounced. "I'm going to start making dinner." Not that yet another meal of travel-cake and some apples would take that long to prepare. Unfortunately, there was no village within probably two hours' ride to go try to purchase anything. "If you want to stay, I'm here to talk. But if you need to be alone for a while, that's fine."

He turned to look over his shoulder at me, and gave a low, almost derisive laugh. "Someone who's on my side? That makes one in this whole damn place."

_It didn't help your case to just __shoot__ Casavir's companion_, I thought, but didn't say. It would have been a gratuitous blow at this point. "Please don't go kill anything tonight."

"Well now," he said, getting to his feet and standing to his full height of nearly six feet. He loomed over me like a storm cloud with an air of quiet, dark menace, "What do you mean by that?" I willed myself to not back away.

"I mean that hunting tonight probably isn't a good idea." He was distracted and distraught, after all. Those weren't qualities to bring to a hunt. "We'll be all right without the meat."

Almost instantaneously, the tension disappeared and he gave me a sly smile. "No weapons, pretty paladin. Just this." He lifted his hand and let me see the bottle of cheap brandy he held; a Waterdhavian style. I recognized that it was little better than rotgut, really. But then, there were times where you drank to actually enjoy the liquor, and times when you drank just to be affected by it. Clearly this fell into the latter category.

If he wanted to go have a drink or two by himself and contemplate, that was a thing I could well understand. "All right. Let me heal you up before you go," I offered. He allowed me to perform that favor, at least, and headed out into the woods again. I watched him leave, admitting that I was concerned for him. Silently I told myself that if he wasn't back before midnight, I'd go out searching and make sure he hadn't drunk himself half to death, fallen into the small canyon, been mauled by an irate Rhellakys, or the like.

A little while later, I was tending the fire when I heard a faint rustle in the undergrowth, and looked up to see Lianna standing at the edge of our camp. She paused, looking at me, clearly waiting for my permission to come visit. I nodded, gestured her on in.

She hefted a leather sack and tossed it to me as she sat down. "I thought you two might want dinner. And if Bishop's been off the hunt for the last few days I can't imagine you've eaten well." So Casavir had told them what had happened.

It was a rough kind of explanation, and one that completely dismissed the possibility of my having any kind of hunting skills. I wasn't Bishop's caliber, no, but I could get by. Still, I appreciated the gesture; even more so when I opened the sack, and found a fresh-dressed pheasant and a loaf of oat-bread, and peculiarly enough, a _very _fine bottle of Chultian rum. I looked up at her, and she gave a nervous twitch of a smile and a half-shrug. "Having an eagle for my companion comes in handy for hunting birds. We had extra, so…"

"He went away," I anticipated the question. "And he took a bottle of bad brandy with him to keep company."

She winced, sitting down. "Understandable. Enough to drive anyone to drink tonight, between this place and the day we've had. I figured you might need it too." She nodded towards the sack. "The rum was a present from some envoy that went to Chult. I was bringing most of the case to my Uncle Duncan, but to my mind, the need to get tipsy this evening takes precedence. So cheers and _boad starovy_, as the Rashemi say."

"Rashemen?" Casavir had mentioned encountering Okku, the bear-god of the Rashemi, hadn't he? It hadn't really stuck in my head at the moment.

She cleared her throat a little nervously. "Never mind it." I had the feeling it was a subject she really didn't want to discuss with anyone, let alone me, from the taut, stricken look on her face. Inevitably it had something to do with the seven months missing in her story since the end of last Marpenoth and her reappearance in Neverwinter late this past spring. I had the sinking feeling that whatever she and her friends had endured during the Shadow War and the Battle of Merdalain had been eclipsed by what came afterwards in Rashemen.

"Your daughter's well?" I tried to bring her back with a gentler subject.

"Cas is looking after Marri at camp right now. He dotes on her, you know." She raised her gaze to mine. "She had his eyes," she remarked thoughtfully. "And maybe more of his nature than mine, if we're lucky. He's probably naturally kinder than me."

"Look," I said wearily, not greeting the thought of making an enemy of this woman with any kind of pleasure, "you and I…"

"But I'm learning," she said with a surprising calm. "Last few tendays have taught me a lot about the way I see other people. Tyr trusts you, and Casavir is trying to. Bishop actually seems to like you, since he's stayed with you long past having the excuse of needing his skills out on a trip. I just met you, so I'm trying to make up my own mind. So unless you show me otherwise, we're square, all right?"

"All right," I said as she stood to leave me alone and go back to her own camp and her husband and daughter and friends. Those words and a peace offering of a pheasant were something I could gladly accept to make my evening a bit more bearable. Well, that and a few drinks of rum.


	23. Gone With the Wind

_**Casavir**_

_Marpenoth 30, 1386_

The silence was almost oppressive, but whatever little conversation we managed at our campsite was particularly forced. The tones were too loud, the laughter too flat. Bad enough with the soul-draining ordeal that this place seemed to be, but of course, the rest of the afternoon's spectacle only lent further power to the awkwardness of it all.

And now as night was falling and less menacing shadows crept over the Vale, I couldn't help but think of the old adage that had belonged to the god of death for centuries. The words were Thorass that translated to _Here now as we are, someday you too shall be_, written on the temples and tombs and tomes along with a grinning, fleshless skull.

_Someday, you too shall be_. In Myrkul's day, the days of my parents and ancestors, that had been a dark warning of punishment to come. For Cyric's blessedly short-lived tenure in the role during my childhood, it had been an instrument of terror. Now in Kelemvor's reign, it was more gently meant, a reminder of the ephemeral nature of mortal life and the eternity that waited beyond.

Still, I heard his soft grave-whisper of a voice in my head tonight. The god who had held my life in his palms at the end of the battle and had given it back; I could so easily have died of my injuries, particularly on the exposed mountainside. The god Lianna had unhappily defied; but he had still helped her regain her soul and fight Akachi the Betrayer. Kelemvor was stern in nature and bound by duties and proceedings, and yet he still found space to be merciful.

My mind kept company with the dead at that moment. The tide of those who I had known, friend, family, and foe alike that had gone from Faerûn seemed fit to rise up and drown me. Freija had told me long ago during her lessons that honorable warriors kept mind of those who were slain on their behalf, both their allies and their enemies. The nature of war was death. But to forget that price, and those who bore it, was to forget humanity, decency, and honor. Loyalty wasn't meant only for the living. "Paladins are leaders. And as a leader you," she said, eyeing me with a gimlet, iron-grey glare, "need to be damn sure that the cause you fight is worth the cost you'll have to bear."

_Katalmach _I may have been, but the Shadow Priest whose voice had hissed accusations with a voice like oily smoke hadn't been entirely wrong. I hadn't counted the cost. I'd told myself that my cause was freeing Old Owl Well from the tyranny and terror of the orc blight, making it safe for the common folks. In truth, at least to begin, I'd just wanted to get myself killed doing something worthwhile. I had thrown myself into attack after attack, not caring how many orcs I slew, not caring nearly as much as I should which of my army were injured or killed. The chief emotion right at the end of battle had been a crushing chagrin to find myself still alive and unhurt.

It was no fit way to live. It was no fit way to die either.

_I'm tired of death_. _There are other ways to fight, aren't there?_ I thought with the weight of it heavy on my shoulders. When Neeshka asked me to repeat myself, I snapped out of the trance, realizing I must have murmured it aloud.

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head and giving her an apologetic smile.

She gave a sigh, shook her head, and spooned out another helping of hot elk stew into her bowl. "You're an odd one, make no mistake about that," she told me.

Again aware of the world around me rather than the dark thoughts in my own head, I heard Marrin grumbling in my arms. "Messy?" I asked her quietly, undoing her blanket and giving her diapered bottom a surreptitious pat, gratefully finding it dry. "Mum will be back soon," I assured her. Lianna had gone off to talk to Brienne, saying she wanted to take some dinner over as we had extra. I wasn't sure yet whether it was a good or bad idea. Certainly I'd like for the two of them to be on friendly terms. I just wasn't sure that tonight was a good night to attempt it, as much on razor's edge emotionally as we all were. But my wife was a grown woman, as was Brienne Starfire. They could make their own decisions. And gods knew; maybe one brawl for the day would dissuade them from trying to kill each other.

My cheeks flushed as I remembered it. Fighting Bishop hadn't been precisely my most shining moment, but inside me, there was a distinct glow of satisfaction at it. I'd put up with his crap for far too long. His insults to me were annoying but I'd heard worse, from those with more skilled tongues. His insults to Lianna I'd always felt obliged to counter for her sake. His physical attack on _my _companion demanded action. I glanced over to where Rhella lay peacefully sleeping now, her hurts assuaged. Praise to Tyr, she would mend.

No, I wasn't sorry for what I had done. I was only sorry for him, grieving Karnwyr and unable to express his anguish in any other way but to try to kill the attacker over and over. That had long been Bishop's answer to everything, I suspected: violence. Confronted by such an overwhelming thing, he'd reverted to his former ways. Still…there was the fact that he'd been such a help to Bree in Luskan. For her, what praise she gave him was practically a thorough endorsement. He had changed already, I sensed it. He could change more, and my fellow paladin was just the woman for the job. It had been a real plea to Tymora sending the two of them out together, but it looked as though my strategy had paid off. They'd clearly found out some parts of their history that made them uniquely suited to understand and support each other.

I just wondered _how much_ they'd confided in each other, though.

Marrin cooed and grabbed at my hand, catching hold of my thumb. "Yes dear," I said, unable to help smiling. The sight of her fingers around my own; the fierceness of her grip…I'd been wrong a year ago to think that the purpose of my life ended with guarding Lianna in our final battle. I'd been thinking only as a paladin. There was so much more to my life, my soul, and I had been too blind to see.

Her tiny fingertips rested on the thin scar across my palm. That entire night a year ago had been frenetic. I'd asked Lianna to the battlements to talk to her, to let free some of the jumble of words that were aching to be said….the feelings and fears of the man. But the thought of coming loss made me frantic and awkward. Instead all I'd managed was choking out something about eternal devotion, about loyalty, about her inspiration to me. I sounded again like her lieutenant than her husband. Still, she'd understood.

And then in the whirlwind of emotion, I'd done it. Blood magic was dangerous business. Any Cloaktower mage would have smacked me for dabbling in it. And my vows to her already were binding. But I'd needed more than that, more than a paladin's obligations. And I knew that blood ran thick with power, particularly when it came to vows. I'd sworn myself to Tyr with the power of a blood-oath those years ago. I could do no less for her. That night surrounded by the stones of the Keep, I understood instinctively what took me so long to openly comprehend these months later: my loyalty and love for Lianna was as deep and abiding as that I had for my god.

So I cut my palm with my dagger, and she did the same. Joining our hands, we'd sworn on that mingled blood that our lives were entwined—and that even death couldn't separate us. The power of the vow was evident when the cuts wouldn't heal by my magic. It had been strangely reassuring later to feel the press of my sword hilt against the bandaged wound, despite the small burn of pain, and be reminded why I fought.

Yes, we'd dared something we didn't fully understand, and the power of it was frightening. I couldn't regret it, though. Just as I couldn't regret us going to her room afterwards and making love as though a lifetime's worth had to be fit into the space of a few hours; just as I couldn't regret Marrin as the result of that night. I feared some for her future because of that conception, but staunch blood ran in her veins, between mine and Lianna's. _Gods, _it dawned on me, as I looked down at her, _shared blood and a promise? _What else could Marrin be? Maybe the gods had answered that first blood vow of death with one of life.

I heard the snap of a twig behind me and put a hand down on the log that was my seat, pivoting to see who was coming to call. We were all a bit jumpy in this place, to judge from how quickly the rest of them seemed to go on alert.

"For Mielikki's sake, it's just me," Lianna said as she slipped into the fireglow, dusting pine needles and bark off the shoulders of her cloak.

Khelgar gave a low rumble of nervous laughter. "Yer not as quiet in the woods as ye used to be, lassie."

"So I'm a bit fatter than I was," she grumbled, now stomping into the circle. "Give me a _little _leeway on that matter, monk-man." While I thought frankly that she looked much better carrying a little softness on her frame, I had the feeling that was a field of blastglobes I didn't want to venture into with such an audience. And maybe not, perhaps, even when we were alone. Lianna regarded fine, courteous speech with some suspicion, and if I said it honestly, she'd probably be offended somehow. I'd just have to keep, ah…_demonstrating_ my appreciation.

Slim Elanee and whipcord-lean Neeshka had the good sense to stay quiet on that matter too; it was stocky, barrel-round Harona who spoke up. "Khel did say that he worried for ye during the war. 'So thin I could snap her', he'd fuss." She gave Lianna a wink. "An' if yon paladin's a decent husband, he'll no' begrudge what changes bearin' his babe have wrought, aye?"

And just like that all eyes were on me—elven, dwarven, human, and tiefling. I felt my cheeks flaming hot, and it had nothing to do with proximity to the fire. _Really__ now_, I thought with a tinge of annoyance, _between Bishop and this, that's about enough of 'provoke the paladin' for one day._ "Ah, you didn't see how it was back in the day, Harona. But we know him," Neeshka said with a giggle. "He'd love her if she had two heads."

"All right," Lianna said, a hint of tartness entering her tone, "that'll do for 'taunt the happy couple'. I swear to the gods, when you all get married, I'm…."

"Oh, that reminds me," I said, cutting in before dire threats and imprecations could be made against their lives and general well-being, "Lianna and I are having our wedding next Greengrass." I grinned as I heard Lianna's faint noise of annoyance at my announcing the thing. _Ah, no escaping it now, my dear_. We'd affirmed our ties over and over. Doing it up proper was the least of it compared to what had gone before, but it was a point I was unwilling to compromise. At least she'd come to see that it wasn't just meaningless ceremony. All our previous bindings had been private. For me, it _mattered _that I should be able to swear myself to her openly and with pride. "You're all invited to be our guests…unless my lovely bride should decide to simply _order_ you to come as penance for tonight."

They were honking with laughter like a gaggle of geese for a few minutes as Lianna sat down beside me, the noise died down quickly enough. But while we ate dinner and the quiet descended, the good cheer bled away into the cool of the night. We were left giving each other momentary, uncomfortable glances that quickly shied away. The tense silence brought the realization anew of where we were and to what purpose, and the heaviness of spirit crept back over us. Even a sigh seemed to carry the weight of the world.

I was aware of the warmth of Lianna's presence at my shoulder as she nursed Marrin, as the others talked quietly in tones too low to hear. Some part of me wanted to reach out to touch the dark silk wisps of Marrin's hair peeking from the folds of Lianna's cloak, and the softness of my wife's cheek as she bowed her head over our little girl. It was no fit night to be alone, with only ghosts and failings and what-might-have-been to call company.

Glad as I was of all of them, of course I turned foremost to her in such a circumstance. As she gently swayed Marri in her arms until at least _one _person in the Vale of Merdalain was snoring with an enviable peace, her troubled eyes met mine. And as they had a year ago, the words that wanted to be said caught in my throat, raw and painful. These weren't words for the ears of others, dear though they were to me.

Khelgar finally cleared his throat with an explosive, nervous sound. "Harona, pet," he said lowly for a dwarf—which was still loud and clear for any other race—"ye wouldn't want to take a wee walk now with me?"

"Not the best place for a moonlit romantic stroll, stumpy," Neeshka said with her usual acid tongue. "Haven't forgotten last year, have you, in your little urge to be alone?"

"Sometimes, girl, it's best to keep silent unless you're sure what you're about to say contains at least a _grain _of sense," Sand said, leveling her with a sharp, steely glare.

"Romantic, I would disagree with," Elanee added softly. "But on such a night, there is much for a pair of lovers to say." She glanced over her shoulder at Daeghun, who looked back at her with a look of mingled concern and tenderness, then turned the same gaze towards Lianna.

She was right. Some time alone with Lianna, to try and speak of all of it, the things that we'd revealed to each other only in painful, oblique fragments—it would be welcome. The idea of actually _talking _in earnest to my wife was still a concept that hadn't lost its luster; or its edge of terror either.

Neeshka met that with a small razz of disdained acquiescence then slumped back against the log she had been using as a backrest. I knew her well enough to know that was putting on a show for covering her own doubts.

"She's right," Lianna murmured, leaning a little closer to me. "Neesh, no offense meant to you, but…"

"I get it," she said with an impatient wave of her hand. "There are friends and then you have lovers and they're different animals entirely."

"Yule," Lia said almost gently with an air of a solemn promise, giving her a small smile. We all watched Neeshka turn a bit red, which clashed wonderfully with her fiery hair. She must indeed be smitten, I decided—nothing else would so fluster our sassy tiefling lass.

"And they're not _entirely _different," I felt compelled to add, as Khelgar and Harona got to their feet, he taking her arm courteously. For all his bluster and thunderous grumbling, he was gentle as a lamb with those he cared for.

"Wait up," Lianna said to them, heading over to her packed saddlebags and digging out a bottle of the Chultian rum. I knew she'd brought one to Brienne and Bishop. Some part of me hoped they were making some use of it: Bishop, after a few drinks, actually tended to be less obnoxious than when sober. That, I suspected, indicated most of his appearing to be a jackass was a conscious front. He was still hard and critical at those times, but not nearly as accusatory, and sometimes even a thread of somewhat melancholy self-criticism crept in. "Here," she said, tossing it to Khelgar. "Take it with you. I think we all need some of this tonight."

"Daughter," Daeghun said with a grave tone of warning, "do you really think…."

"Yes, Father," she said, eyeing him with a fierce look, "I _do_ think. I actually think pretty frequently. And right now I think that while being roaring drunk is a bad idea, being mildly toasted sounds good."

"She may have the right of it," Elanee murmured ruefully. "And you were not here that day, my love…"

"I _dug _through these remains with my bare hands for my daughter!" The words burst from Daeghun like a broken dam against a spring flood, his eyes glittering with anguish, one of the few displays of emotion I'd ever witnessed from him. The remembered pain was clear in his words. He quickly mastered himself again, adding, "And for you also," in a quiet aside to his lady-love. But having let his mask slide and finally giving the ghosts room to slip in, he was as lost as the rest of us. He accepted the rum bottle Lianna handed him without protest, his slim, long fingers closing around the neck.

Watching the two couples disappearing into the woods, Lianna sat back down with a sigh, pulling out yet another bottle. Duncan would be receiving a rather diminished gift. "Well," she said, looking at the three of us.

"A deep subject," Sand said dryly. Not up to his usual standard of wit, of course. "Take your husband, dear girl, and go. No need to guard us."

"I'm aware you can handle yourselves," Lianna shot back defensively, holding Marrin closer to her chest. "But I'm here to look after my dau…"

"She's in deeper than if you'd fed her Charry's Sleeping Solution like they did to us at the temple," Neeshka told her. "I think Sand and me, we can watch a sleeping kid without worries, and it's not like you'll be out all night. I'm her godsmother, after all. Scram." She raised an eyebrow. "Or after all that, have you got nothing to say to your man, eh?"

I was sure she had plenty to say. It was only a matter of whether or not she wanted to say it…or if she could.

"Besides, we've got Rhella and Lyris," the tiefling remarked with a roll of her eyes. "And Naloch and Rollo." She nodded towards the dozing companions. "Good enough?"

After a long moment Lianna sighed, handing Marrin to Neeshka and reaching for another bottle, clutching it to her chest. "I don't intend to do all this sober," she told me with a nervous snort and then turned towards the darkness, marching out with a rapid, determined pace.

Fortunately for me, I was a good eight inches taller and with my longer stride quickly caught up to her without much effort. Summoning a ball of mage-light glowing in my right palm to light our way through the pitch dark, we walked in silence through the valley, stopping near a copse of trees on a gentle slope of hill. The fire had long since gone out of sight. Whatever direction the dwarves and the elves had taken after leaving our company, they were neither in sight or earshot. We might have been the only two people in the world at that moment.

Sitting down on the hillside with a heavy sigh, she looked into the sky. She didn't look towards me even as I sat down next to her, spreading the folds of my cloak beneath me as shelter against the cold ground. I closed my fingers, extinguished the light; somehow it seemed fitting that the night should hide us. There was no moon tonight, and the stars were dim in the overcast sky. Even though she was only a few feet away, I barely saw her as an outline in the night. There was no wind either, and the air hung heavy and still. _Deathly calm_, I thought, shuddering as though an icy finger had just trailed its way down my spine.

"Some days," she said meditatively, "I almost think being dead would be easier than all this. Not that I want to be dead, mind. But when I think about Neverwinter, about all those people at court…" She inhaled deeply then uncorked the rum she'd kept clutched in her hand the entire way, taking a deep swallow. She handed it to me, and I followed suit, taking one swig and then another for good measure, grateful for the liquor. It wasn't very cold tonight, but the burn of the rum lessened the heavy feeling that lay like a lump of clay in my stomach.

Of anything I might have thought would come from her mouth tonight, the approaching days in Neverwinter hadn't been high on the list. But I was grateful that she'd finally confide such a thing in me. "You have nothing to prove to them," I reminded her. "Neither of us should." Not after all we'd been through on their behalf, how many times we'd pulled the fate of many from the fire. It was terrifying now to think about how thin that edge had been, how many times we'd almost failed.

"Yeah, but you know they'll still make us feel small and awkward anyhow. It's an inborn _talent _with that lot."

"They'll try." I turned to her, hearing the urgency in my voice. "But I'm with you for it. Let me fight them for you, Lianna." I could guard her against the worst of it, I was certain.

She was silent for a minute, tipping her head back to look higher into the sky as if trying to find answers in the murky swirl of clouds and stars. Finally she spoke up, voice raised with some heat of emotion. "Yeah, sure neither of us have the proper bloodlines, but you've got one advantage over me that the high-and-mighty folk of the Council will respect."

"What's that?" Granted, I had grown up in Neverwinter and they knew me, but familiarity in some cases would have bred contempt.

"You've got a cock and I don't. So what will they say if I stand there in my pretty dress and let you be my attack dog?" she said, her voice suddenly laced with anger. "They'll say of course I'm some dumb little country slut who has to let a man do her fighting for her. No thank you, I don't need you to be like the rest of 'em, chuck me under the chin and tell me to stay out of that nasty sordid business, dear, it's for your own protection, let the _men _handle it."

I stared at her, incredulous, feeling as though she'd just slapped me. She might as well have. "Gods save you, woman," I snapped, unable to help myself, "you were glad enough of my sword guarding your back on campaign. Or would you have preferred that I let you get killed showing you could somehow _do it all? _You couldn't, damn it! Nobody could do it all!"

"They have to see I can stand on my own," she insisted stubbornly.

"Independence," I said, trying desperately to wrestle my irritation back under control with the reminder than furiously shaking my wife by the shoulders wouldn't be kind, "doesn't mean shoving everyone else away. You insult every one of us who stood by you when you insist you don't need our help, because it dismisses every effort we made. And in my case, I'm so gods-damned tired of you seeing my desire to protect you as some kind of condescension!"

"Well what else do you call it?" she snapped.

"Caring," I barked back every bit as heatedly. "I know you can handle most things by yourself. You have the strength. But I love you, and part of that means that I want to spare you pain and hardship wherever I may. Do you understand _that, _or do we have to go back a few tendays to where I told you I'm not only here when it serves your desires?"

She let out a low growl of irritation at my bringing that up again. "You're just too ready to…" I heard the wavering in her voice, knew she was coming around. But like Rhella on a charge, I couldn't seem to stop myself.

"Do you think I didn't endure insult for your defense of me when Mordren's betrayal came out,that I didn't hear that I was hiding behind the skirts of a woman, too afraid to answer for myself? But I was damn glad to have someone to take my part, as I had endured _everything _alone for years!" I took her by the shoulders, feeling the urge to bloody shake some sense into her: so much for the mental reminder that it wasn't nice to do that. "Of course I guard you. I owe you that as your husband, your comrade, and your friend. But we all care about you. And we're not mere toadies," I said, "simply there to flatter and admire you while you laugh in the face of hardship and do it all. We stood by you then, as we stand by you today, so that none of us have to face life's trials alone." _As I stand by you tonight; as I will stand by you in Neverwinter. _

She said nothing, but I sensed her trembling underneath my hands. Her head bowed in the blackness. She took another drink of Chultian courage for whatever it was she had to say and then handed me the bottle.

I heard the sound, a shuddering intake of breath, just as I let go of her. "I _do _care about them, the living and the dead. Even Qara, strange as it sounds. All of you—we bickered and bitched and moaned, but we were friends. No, in truth, we were family. I felt so lonely in Rashemen," she admitted lowly. "And they were good to me, but they treated me so differently. I see it now."

"How so?" I asked softly, taking a drink and tasting the spicy-sweet burn of the rum on my tongue, feeling myself calm down once again. Not a habit I ought to get into, but for this night, I was more than willing to indulge.

"They followed me, but in part that was because unlike our group, my mission fit so cleanly with all of their motives. And…I was their leader. They respected me. But I don't know that any of them really _loved _me, not until after I regained myself and we became friends. For so long, I was the leader of the Crusade, the Evenstar of Mielikki…and I knew nothing else. I couldn't even tell them the sort of person I had been before."

She gave a sniffle. "They named me Chornya, 'the black one', just to have something to call me. Later Mielikki at least gave me back my name when she called me as her champion at the Wells. She knew my deeds and my past but she couldn't give back my memories."

"I imagine not." To have her soul torn apart and scattered to the four winds in an attempt to undo the work of a brutal dead god; even another deity couldn't repair that on a whim. At least the Woodswalker had been kind enough to restore her name, and to reassure her that she had been in the past, and still was, a woman worthy to be her champion. That must have given Lianna courage.

"That name was Gann's doing. He tried to walk in my dreams and all he found was the darkness, and the monster. That was the shadow in the room, all right—they could never forget that I was a barely controlled spirit-eater, something not quite human." She gave a soft sound of grief. "I couldn't remember anyone loving me in the past, and none of them would dare get close to me. I knew that I was so lonely that I couldn't bear it. I thought so many times about walking off into the night and never coming back…"

"I know." I heard the naked emotion thick in my voice.

She lifted her head and I imagined she must be looking at me with suspicion. "How do you know anything of the sort?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, feeling the dread weigh heavy on my heart. Tonight there were many more ghosts in the Vale than just those who had been buried beneath the collapsed stones. "Old Owl Well."

"I swore if you _ever _said those words again," she warned, shaking a finger in my face. It might have been more menacing if it hadn't been the hand with the bottle of rum in it, sloshing it around dangerously.

"You asked," I pointed out, hearing the plaintive note I gave the words. Either I'd had too much rum, or maybe not enough. Not enough, I decided, not nearly enough. I neatly plucked the bottle from her fingers, taking another swallow to fortify myself. These weren't pleasant memories I was summoning.

"Go on," she said, with an expansive gesture, leaning back on her elbows against the grass.

Putting the rum aside, I lay back myself and looked up at the night sky, folding my hands on my chest. "It was bad enough when I came to them, organized them into a fighting force. But…I never told you what happened to me there. I arrived in late Alturiak. I'd spent three years wandering the lands, but as simply a mundane. I thought I must have fallen, and I didn't make my prayers because how could I ever hope to explain my guilt to Tyr?"

She sighed, and I heard her moving a bit beside me. "Cas," she started.

"I know better now," I said with a dismissive wave. "He didn't blame me. But I _believed _it, you see. So nobody knew what I was, because I didn't want them to—too much explanation, too many raw wounds. It was cool that year in the mountains, so I hid my tattoos easily until well into Kythorn. Then…Katriona was wounded severely." I still remembered the foul stink of a ruptured bowel, the helplessness. "She would have died. And all I could think was _If only I had my powers still, I might save her_. I called out to Tyr, pleaded with him that if he'd just grant me the grace to help them, I knew I still would pay someday with my life."

"And he answered, of course."

"Yes." The shock of divine magic coursing through me for the first time in several years had hit me like the kick of a horse. The experience was like when Tyr had touched my shoulder in the forest a few tendays ago. I'd managed to stay conscious to see Katriona's stomach healing, and then gratefully passed out. "The force of it after so long knocked me out. They brought me to my tent, and checked me for what wounds that might have caused me to lose consciousness."

"Found your tattoos, of course. And all right, most country folk might not know much about paladin marks, but you probably had someone who at least guessed."

"A few had fought with paladin commanders during the Luskan War. Obviously Tyr showed me grace, though at that time I wasn't sure whether he was giving me a second chance or whether I had needlessly hid from him." Discovering much later that it had been the latter case had been almost like a physical blow. I'd spent the night in the chapel holding vigil and praying for his forgiveness, feeling the hot tears of shame and grief running down my cheeks. "But regardless, I had hid the truth from them. There was no reason for me to do that except from something I was ashamed of. They never asked me, though."

"Probably they wanted to respect your privacy."

"Or else perhaps they didn't want to know."

She laughed softly to herself. "Ah, no wonder Katriona worshipped the ground you walked on, Casavir. Saving her life like that? Dramatic stuff, I have to admit. I felt a smidge of it myself the first time you did it for me, much as I didn't want to."

"That was the problem, you see…worship. From that day, they knew I wasn't just some ragtag mercenary, but a _paladin_. And they became convinced that I was the sign of the gods' favor on their fight." I clasped my hands behind my head, trying to tell her of it. We didn't look at each other, and she'd have been only a shadow in the moonless night, but I knew she was listening to me from her stillness. "I know it was in part because I set myself apart. A man seeking his own end doesn't make for a good fireside companion."

She gave a half-choked little laugh, almost a sob of pain. "Gods, yes. You were unbearable that first tenday—so grim. It was a mission we all hated to start and here was some high-handed gloomy stormcloud of a man foisting himself on us…"

"I'm sorry."

"Bygones," she said decisively. "And I was wrong. You showed me that quickly enough. Even as sad as you seemed, there was honor under the pain, and compassion also. They must have seen it. They followed you, after all."

"They followed a paladin. They had prayed for salvation, and I seemed to be their sign. And after they knew the truth about me? The jokes, the attempts at conversation—they all stopped. Even Katriona only began to pine for me once she knew what I truly was, and I think she saw a glorious image, not a man." I took a deep breath. "When we'd come back from a battle...all the rest belonged. But not me." The smiles and the slapping of backs, the shouts of joy and congratulations, the fretting over wounds, the hugs and kisses and the muffled sounds of lovemaking in the night from the tents of the couples. I yearned for all of that, to be anything other than I was, so fiercely that it shocked me.

I heard the waver in my voice. "I was their general, their chief, their guardian, their talisman of battle-luck, but none of them saw me as a man—until you. And it seems strange to tell now, but I wanted so desperately for someone to…to remind me I was human and my life was worth more than just endless blood and battle, to reach out and just _touch _me. I was trying so hard to get killed each day that passed, and still, I think I would have died for the touch of a hand."

For as much rum as we'd both drunk that night, her hand was steady as it found my arm. Her fingers laced through mine steadily, her touch warm and reassuring. "And we all thought you were cold as the snows," she mused softly. "You didn't run hot with your emotions, so I thought you had none for a long time."

I hid a smile, knowing she couldn't see it anyhow, still grasping her hand in mine. "_Mi tywhenni, dhem erryn_," I told her.

"What's that?"

"Kymrian, 'I shine, not burn'. It's from an ancestor of mine, on my mother's side, who wanted to be known for bringing hope to his people rather than strife." Apparently in the days when the clans fought, the flame of his courage had been insulted by the other hot-tempered Iron Shore warlords for not having much inclination to sacrifice the small remaining numbers of his clansmen to the longstanding feuds. He'd taken their jibe and made it into a personal motto, thinking the illumination of peace to be better than the ashes of war. It took another hundred years, and the ancestor of the present lord of Tyntarren, to unite the clans. But I distantly recalled there were tales still told of a warm evening at the Gathering of clever Drusus Rhalsokkar…my father had been named for him. Men of peace could be remembered along with men of war, I thought with a sense of encouragement.

She laughed low in her throat, raising her other hand to carefully touch my face, feeling her way through the dark. "You shine all right, my paladin. Even if I only saw you wear the polished full plate that once, during the siege. Gods, you were a sight fit for glory. I was thinking that you looked like the hero worthy of an epic, not me_._" Was it the rum making her tongue so free, or the nature of this place? "I never felt like a hero," she confessed. "To be called one and know that they have no idea of what I am in truth…"

I leaned closer to her, finding the gentle curve of her throat with my hand and following it up to cup her chin, my fingers skimming the firm line of her jaw. "People need something larger than life to believe in," I said, trying desperately amidst the pleasant haze to fix on my words, to explain. "One man or woman can be corrupted, destroyed, slain. But an idea, a symbol? It can be everlasting, unchallengeable."

"Like paladins," she said with distinct, somewhat tipsy amusement. "Nobody wants to believe in ol' Pettar Froggywart from Swamptown, but make him Pettar of Torm with the sparkly holiness and suddenly everybody's all aflutter."

I grinned ruefully at that, feeling myself a little embarrassed since I knew too well how aflutter some folk got about paladins—not all the heat in my cheeks was from the drink. I'd been fawned and fussed over because of my status. But Lianna Thirsk was the only woman who'd ever gotten aflutter about ordinary Casavir Erelissohn. "I am not sparkly," I felt compelled to point out to her. What did she think I was: some kind of aasimar? _I've got the holy mark for it now_, _if not the blood,_ I realized with a snort of amusement I barely suppressed. "Of course, you're right. At Old Owl We—_damn _it, Lianna, _really!_" I rubbed my shoulder where she'd punched me. "You're not being fair," I protested.

"Don't say that name again. Ever," she said warningly, but then ruined the impression with a distinct giggle. Oh, she was feeling no pain all right, and in this creepy, glum place, I could only think that was all to the good. _Definitely not enough rum, _I decided, taking another drink.

"But really," I protested, trying to find the thread of my explanation and convince her of the rightness of my thinking. Stubborn woman, my wife, always determined to hold out tooth and nail when I was trying to explain something to her. Really, resisting a sensible Tyrran argument was usually about as effective as spitting in a hurricane. Sometimes I thought she did it just for sheer wicked amusement at getting me spun up by her balking. Of course, I got some fun out of it myself when she had to admit in the end I'd been right. "It can be so very _powerful_, Lianna. The Second Hero of Neverwinter and the Lady of Crossroads Keep? She's already accomplished things that Lianna Thirsk never dreamed. And she can do a lot more yet."

"So allow myself to be consumed in the service of the people all over again," she said, with a faint questioning note in her voice. "That's your recommendation? Shit, that's some of the worst coun…"

"No. That was my delusion for, oh, over half my life so far." Roughly from the time I was eight until Tyr had opened my eyes. That wasn't exactly a proud record. Oh well, chalk much of it up to the folly of youth and all that. My next thirty years were looking a lot more promising.

"Thanks to the lessons of that haughty bitch Aribeth de Tylmarande," she muttered crossly, brows drawn down in irritation.

Well, I wasn't sure I'd carry it to the point of "haughty bitch", but Aribeth definitely had some things to answer for one day when it came to advice and teachings. Not the least of which involved a small thing like, oh, her extreme interpretation of the romantic code of "Don't oblige a lover by giving your feelings without invitation". _Did Aribeth want said invitation fucking __engraved__ on Waterdhavian linen paper or what? _

But looking on a more positive slant, in place of those now I had Tyr's lessons, giving me strength and hope. "You need an anchor—someone who knows you truly, without all the glory and pageantry and honorifics. Lady, my love," I said softly, yearning suddenly to hold her close, "I was always more myself with you than I ever was in battle or with fine words. And now these last tendays, we've been only our true selves…Lianna and Casavir. You know this."

Relaxing from her state of fierce tension at those words, she turned her face into my caress with a tiny sigh, kissing my palm. "I know," she murmured.

Caught in that moment, I gave in to the impulse to slide my arms around her. So familiar, the feel of her in my arms, the way we instinctively fit together in an embrace. And in this place, on this night, she meant everything to me. I couldn't see her but as a shadow. Still, that didn't matter. The sound of her low voice, the brush of the soft waves of her hair against my cheek, the solid warmth of her body near mine—it was like desperately surfacing after a near-drowning and taking a breath of sweet, fresh air.

It wasn't enough, though, and I yearned to be closer to her, to cast off the rest of the chill of death and despair that permeated this entire godsforsaken place like fog. So I kissed her, knowing I was more than a little clumsy from the dark and probably the drink as well. It didn't appear to matter, since she answered me gladly.

Things were a little fuzzy from there, between rum and blissful distraction, though the kissing was wonderful, and our clothing got a little bit in disarray. Her fingers were a little cold on my skin, as mine must have been too, but neither of us cared too much. I certainly noticed when she began working on the lacings of my trousers, though. "Lia?" I muttered questioningly into the crook of her neck, trying to not remember how it had been between us almost a month ago. I didn't mind the greedy want for reassurance; Tyr knew I wanted it myself. But I had to be sure that rum and old pain hadn't returned her to that kind of callous self-absorption. I bloody well wanted to know I was only myself to her, not just some damn instrument.

She hushed me a little impatiently, her fingers surprisingly steady. "Haven't drunk too much, have you?" she murmured, nibbling a bit on my ear. Her hand slid down a bit further, and I couldn't help sucking in a shaky breath. "Ah, still in good working order!" she chortled. Gods, really, she could be charmingly ignorant about some things. Tipsy wasn't a problem, as I'd found out when I'd tried to drown my hopeless love for her with an ale or two, and still had agonizing dreams.

Despite the distraction she offered, I gripped her by her arms, though harder than I had intended. She gave a small sound of protest, but stopped. Her face was now mere inches from mine. I could look her in the eyes, at least technically, though I still could only imagine what I might see there in better light. "Tell me true," I said, unable to help the hint of a growl of temper, "are you here right now? Or are you in Rashemen or West Harbor or…or gone away deep inside…" I took a deep breath, tried again. "Do you want me?" I heard the earnest emphasis I put on "me", and knew I left myself vulnerable by it. I didn't want to sound vindictive or suspicious, but our past ways had bit deep. We'd hurt each other too much, and then won too much by the struggle for understanding, to just carry on as if none of it had an effect.

She leaned forward, managed to avoid bumping her nose on mine, kissed me lightly. "Our true selves," she reminded me gently. "Lianna and Casavir, aye? That's what we are."

I smiled against her lips; put my arms around her again. She belonged to me, and I to her, and so neither of us owed allegiance to the dark horrors of the past or the relentless worries of the future.

No surprise that intimacy readily succeeded as a marvelous distraction, because quickly time and memory faded away. Hearing her own obvious enjoyment, I noticed with certain merriment that rum certainly made her express her pleasure more openly. Good thing we'd walked a ways from the camp. But given the loud moans and prayers to all the gods and the encouragement, I couldn't resist an opportunity to tease her. "Now tell me," I said, tightening my hands at her waist and quite pleased that I could form some coherent words myself, "still upset that I have a cock and you don't?"

She guffawed so hard that she couldn't hold her rhythm, never the sort to settle for small ladylike giggles. And as quickly as she broke down and gave in, I was lost and laughing right along with her. She leaned against me, both of us helplessly laughing until our sides hurt. "It does," she said, her voice telling me she was still threatening to break into a fresh fit, "work quite nice this way." Lying back, she tugged me down with her hands strong on my shoulders.

All we had was each other and that moment, and while it lasted, it was wonderful. Trying to not give in to the impulse to doze off afterwards, I kept my arms around her. Of course, sweat drying in the night air quickly was making me cold. The chill woke me up quickly enough, and I tried to wrap my cloak around us both. That seemed to rouse her. I felt her breath warm against my neck as she whispered, "I…I need Marrin." Her fingers tightened their grip in my hair, tugging almost to the point of pain. "I need my baby," she said more insistently.

She was right. Being with this woman, my soul-mate, assuaged much of the hurt, and giving and receiving comfort made the bleakness far more bearable. But in the aftermath of it, I realized that I felt as though I'd left behind something important. Not whatever parts of me were buried beneath the rubble, though. This was more a feeling of something far more vital, something mislaid and the absence suddenly felt keenly. Marrin had been here with us last year, though neither of us had known. And I knew I couldn't rest easy until our family was complete again. "I need her too," I murmured in reply, squeezing her shoulder with my hand.

Getting ourselves back into some semblance of composure and brushing down our clothes, our heads mostly cleared on the way back. But she kept her hand in mine the entire time. As we saw the light of the campfire, she turned, sliding her arms around me. "Face it together, come what may?"

"To the very end," I promised, pulling her close for a quick, fierce hug. "No matter if that takes facing zombies and noblemen alike."

She laughed lowly at that. "You're game as ever to fight the good fight. Gods love you for that, Casavir Erelissohn. I know that I do." I felt my cheeks get warm again at the compliment of it.

We were the first ones back, a little to my surprise. But Marrin was still drowsing peacefully when Lianna took her from Neeshka with her thanks. "Missed her?" Neeshka asked, once again tucking Marrin's blanket around her attentively. For all her feigned hard nature, the tiefling fussed over her godsdaughter relentlessly.

"Yeah," Lia said, turning towards me, Marrin snug against her chest.

"Wasn't the same without her," looking first at Lianna and then down at Marrin's sleeping face.

We lay down for the night in the light of the fire; my wife curled up against me, my daughter tucked safe in her embrace. I faintly heard Khelgar and Harona returning to camp. Putting an arm around them, I tugged the thick wool folds of my cloak over them for warmth. And with all that I loved lying safe in my arms, I found that I could sleep in the Vale of Merdalain.


	24. Heart of Darkness

**_Bishop_**

_Uktar 1, 1386_

When I got back, the paladin—the one with tits, as I'd really have to start differentiating between the two—was sitting by the fire all puffed up like a kiddie's treegum globe full with the hot air of righteousness. Or maybe she was puffed up with the bottle of rum that dangled from her fingers. I made myself pretty comfortable with a spruce log as a backrest, enjoying the sharp smell of the sap against the sharp tang of the brandy. Oh yeah…cheap booze in my fist and a quiet dark night in the woods. Like so many others, except there was no heavy weight of a head on my knee and no rough-silk fur under my fingers, no brown eyes like my own looking back at me with understanding and no bloody judgment.

She wasn't Karnwyr. I pretty much already hated her at that moment for that. And I hated the paladin—the one with a cock, that was—my godsdamned baby sister, the gnome, the dwarf, the tiefling, the prissy elf and the druidess just for being here and seeing me like this, and judging me like they always did. And of course I fucking hated, _hated _bears just on principle. That smug sow that hung by Casavir's side knew he'd probably die before he let me touch her, let alone wipe her out like she deserved. A thorn in my side, Casavir Erelissohn, as usual: that just made it all the worse.

Tits-Paladin moved closer, sat down on her haunches beside the fire, warming her hands, not looking over at me. I took another deliberate swig to show her I didn't give a shit that she was there, and almost choked myself to death by taking it too hefty. "You might at least drink the rum your sister sent rather than poisoning yourself with that crap," she offered, gesturing to the bottle she'd been nipping at.

"I like you better when you shut up," I told her.

"Too bad," she said dismissively, brushing her hair back from her slightly pointed ears. "I like you better when you're not being a brazen jackass. So I suppose we're both going to be disappointed."

I laughed, looking her over and wanting to hurt her as much as my body and heart all hurt right now, courtesy of a bear, the gods, and Cock-Paladin. "Well now, you've got a mouth on you, pretty paladin, make no mistake about that. An ex-whore…hells, can you be an _ex_-whore?...ought to be able to think of a few other uses for it."

She laughed at me. Trying to sound defiant, but I knew from the high, thin sound of it that it was forced. I'd hurt her. Good. "You think you're the first to say that? You're not getting any closer to my bedroll by insulting me."

I smirked at her. "Maybe you want me to use pretty words and compliments like Casavir. Does my dear little sister know that you've fucked him?"

"What?" She spun on her heels, glaring at me like a wild beast, contorting her fine, sharp features with rage.

"Oh, fine, maybe you're too honorable to really chase another woman's man. But from how you were hanging all over him, you've fucked him before, and you maybe wouldn't pass up the chance now." She'd kissed him, hugged him like an old lover. Maybe dear sweet Casavir wasn't as lily-white as he'd probably told his wife, in between shagging Ophala Dathalien and dallying with a former Luskan whore.

"You haven't got the slightest idea what the hells you're talking about." Her voice was almost a snarl.

"Of course, Casavir's already gotten fucked once tonight," I told her with a drunken grin. "So maybe you'll still settle for me if you're randy. I haven't had a woman in a few months, after all." Every time I'd flopped down somewhere to sulk ever since Casavir and I had brawled, Casavir ended up near me in company of a woman—first Brienne, then Lianna. And of course, just because the gods hated me and this time I wasn't deliberately eavesdropping—for once in my life—I knew if they found me they'd accuse me of spying and probably kick my ass again. So I'd been forced to stay put until they finally left and I could creep away. Seeing Brienne kiss him burned in my brain like poison.

I couldn't see anything with Lianna: thank whatever benevolent force kept me from being treated to the sight of my baby sister busy fucking. That would pretty much ruin the shitty shreds of what remained of this year. But the sounds were worse. Yeah sure, there'd been the usual groans and grunts, and it would almost be funny hearing him so undignified. But then just how she'd called his name when he made her come told me that, unlike all those bored brothel girls I'd known, this was a woman not faking the pleasure. That was bad enough; hearing them talking, the little whispers and murmurs I couldn't make out…the only thing the whores ever muttered to me was to pay up my coppers and get my ass out of bed. The only person who'd ever really paid attention to me without payment was Karnwyr. Even Lianna had expected me to pay up by dragging me into her crazy schemes.

I hated Casavir. Gods, I hated him. Paladins didn't have it hard, for all their sighing about sacrifice and austere living. Everything good in life just came his way, showered down on him as a downpour of godsgifts. And I hated Brienne for being a paladin too, and for being in love with him.

"You were _spying_ on them?" she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"No," I corrected her, "if people happen to rut within earshot of where I was nice and cozy, that's not _my _fault. If animals do it without any shame, why should I be bothered by people? You've been fucked often enough in your life, after all. Why should you be embarrassed, eh?"

There was a dizzying flash of red as she hit me: not a dainty, open-handed womanish slap, but an outright knuckle punch. I turned just enough that she caught my cheekbone rather than my jaw. "Fine, Bishop," she hissed, standing in front of me, rubbing her knuckles with a wince from striking bone rather than meat. "Yes, I was a whore. I can't even count how many men degraded and abused me when I was too young to fight back. You think I'll just stand here and let you do it now?"

"If I pay you, maybe?" I leered at her. She hit me again, and gods, the pain was so sweet, just like it had been this afternoon finally being able to _hit _Casavir. I craved the sensation like an addict. I was right back where I had been earlier in the year; fighting just to give or get pain, drugging and drinking and fucking until I could barely stand. All those months with Janneth and Brienne and goodness felt like such bland shit now. Maybe I couldn't change as much as they liked to think I could. I laughed, feeling alive, feeling like I was on the edge of madness, and loving and hating it all at once. "Oh, you don't like hearing truth_, _do you, Brienne? Nice paladin you make."

"Shut up," she snarled, backing away from me and dusting her hands together like she wanted to rub the contamination of touching me off of her. "For an Ilmaterian, you're suffering with no grace. Just because you lost one friend doesn't give you the right to hurt everyone else who might try to befriend you."

I looked at her, wanting to shut her up. I imagined the smooth hiss of my dagger leaving its sheath, the swift stroke across her throat, and the hiss of escaping, blessedly wordless air while her blood spilled warm and sticky and with its iron tang. I imagined gripping that slender throat; bruising that fair skin with the press of my hands and feeling her pulse flutter wildly then slow gradually to nothing underneath my fingers. I imagined throwing her down on the bedroll with my body pinning hers and my hand across her mouth and then fucking her without mercy.

Those were old thoughts, dark thoughts, unwelcome thoughts that crept in like shadowed, unwelcome guests. I hated the bitch right now, yes. But I didn't want to kill her, and I'd never had a taste for rape—there were subtler ways to intimidate and break someone. I just wanted her to shut up and leave me alone. Too bad asking nicely wouldn't work.

She looked at me, with that clear, penetrating paladin's glower. "And I know better than to believe that kind of talk from a man who in the last tendays risked his life to rescue _some whores,_" she said the words with a sarcastic emphasis, "without asking anything in return." Gods, what an idiot Brienne Starfire was turning out to be. She claimed all that divine holy light and grace, and she couldn't even see what a rotten bastard I was.

"You have no gods-damned idea who I am," I pronounced the words with some care, sitting up on my haunches and tossing another dry branch onto the fire. The bone-dry wood—gods, how long ago had _everything _died in this valley?—caught with a bright lick of flame, sparks popping like swirling fireflies into the dark sky.

She crouched on the other side of the fire, giving me distance. Maybe she knew I was a beast that would take a snap at her if she came too close. "Then tell me," she said, her voice suddenly low. "Tell me and make me understand or shut the hells up and leave me alone." The firelight cast the lines of her face harshly, the reddish glow against shadow making her look more like some demon spawned from the pits of Baator than Tyr's very own precious paladin. The more I looked, the more I imagined her in the guise of some jaded erinyes, some haughty whoring succubus—a like nature to mine, not the haughty prig she'd be by daylight. Darkness hides us all and covers a multitude of sins; one of Hassileah's first lessons.

Oh, where to start? "I'm the bastard spawn of a whore—then again she didn't take pay to fling her legs open, so I guess that just made her a slut. I got kidnapped off by Luskan when I was a snot-nosed kid and was enslaved in their army. When I was sixteen, we attacked Neverwinter. Made myself a man—dipped my wick the night before and covered my hands in blood in battle. Certain _parties_," I sneered the word, "in Luskan noticed it. So I joined the Circle of Blades as an assassin. I spent most of my apprenticeship serving…nah, ­_servicing_…a twisted bitch of a drow." There were still some nights that the nightmarish pain-pleasure of her bedchamber was still all too real. "They sent me out to burn my home village to pass my initiation rite, and I tried to savethe morons, even though they just stood aside and let me be taken fourteen years before." _Even though one of the gutless wonders had to be my da, since hells, Mam had pretty well been with all the men of the village, married or not, _I thought but didn't say. "The stupid sheep refused to save themselves, and so my Luskan _companions_," I gave the word its full ironic inflection, "tried to make me into a pincushion for my troubles. That, pretty paladin," I said, with a mocking salute, the bottle of brandy in hand, "is what you get for trying to be helpful."

She gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Is that all?" Her scorn hit me like the kiss of the lash—sharp and biting, oddly welcome. To feeling anything besides the void of Karnwyr's loss was startling. "_That's _your dreaded secret, your reason for thinking you're a rotten apple? You spend all your time shoving others away and acting like a rude misanthrope. Maybe you didn't save the day, but you had enough pangs of conscience to try, to reject Luskan for well and good."

"Oh, fuck you, Brienne," I snapped, "for trying to make me into some pretty little planetar throwing off Luskan's chains. You know what I learned from that night? Those who won't try to save themselves are pathetic, and those who encourage them to be weak by constantly saving them are just as dumb."

"Says the man who just spent a few tendays on a rescue mission," she shot back.

"You think I was there out of the goodness of my heart? I wouldn't touch a paladin with the sharp end of a halberd unless someone _made_ me. Lianna made me stick around Casavir all that time, and who do you think made me go on the trail with you?" I saw the slow look of understanding come over her; the passion crushed down to feeble embers, and felt my lips curve into a vicious smile. I'd got her, all right, now to finish the job. "Yeah, your dear sweet Casavir made me go. And do you know why I'd ever give a good gods-damn what a paladin orders me to do?"

"I assume he had some compulsion," she said softly, though she still hadn't turned away from me.

"It was you or the noose, sweetheart," I said mockingly, "and I decided I still liked living."

"The noose?" Now she really looked at me, eyes wide and startled. She looked like some stupid little fawn. "You were bound for execution?"

"That's the penalty for treason, isn't it? You're the Tyrran, master of the law, so you should know. Yeah, I betrayed Lianna, in the courtyard of her very own Keep with the undead howling outside the walls, and I left her all the other fools she'd gathered to her to die there. And you know why? I wanted her to die, her and that _paladin._" Even if she was my sister, it still hurt. "I didn't know she was my sister, y'see," I said, giving her what must have looked like a demented grin, "so yeah, I wanted to bed her, and she just wanted him. So after they got together I waited for my chance, saw it that morning and leapt at it, and she never saw it coming. I was _laughing _the whole way down the road, you hear me?" That was a lie. I'd been infuriated and depressed, and maybe there'd been more than a little twist of shame, because I _knew _why she would never have picked the likes of me. "That's the man I am, Starfire. Get used to it."

She stared at me for a good twenty seconds without a word, like I was some exotic beast she had never seen before. Then instead of screaming, slapping me, or stabbing me, she gave a horrible, thin-lipped little smile. "Get up."

"Oh, gods, _please_, are you going to drag me into the woods and do the job yourself? You might want to take it up with Casavir before you behead me, my dear little swordswench, because _he's _the one who let me live."

"Shut. Up," she said, enunciating, but tone even as a balance in Waukeen's temple. "Are you coming along or am I dragging you?"

I debated making her drag me—see how long _that_ lasted. She was human rather than elven in her build, and strong besides for that frame from paladin training, but she was still a short little female. _Ah, hells with it, _I decided. I doubted balking would piss her off enough to just kill me already. I'd let her play her little game of indignation, and hope that she didn't sermonize and accuse for too damn long before she made an end of it. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," I said, hopping to my feet, rolling my eyes.

We walked in silence through the darkness, and I got the sense quick enough of where we were going: the camp of my former companions. But she didn't go in, standing a shortbow-shot away, too far for the warmth of the fire to reach us in the chill of the air. I couldn't hear everything, but Lianna had out her mouth harp and was playing some ballad. We'd spent many nights listening to a collection of Harborman songs, from the romantic to the bawdy to the mundane and everything in between. The dwarf would bellow along, totally off-key. The tiefling would razz about the sappier songs but still be smiling to herself. The elves would sing, annoyingly note-perfect. The paladin would just sigh and look wistfully at Lianna, and it wasn't because he was appreciating the music as a Tyrran. Shandra would swap Harborman songs for the songs of her native Meadowlands. The warlock, once he joined up, just sat and glowered. The gnome would just excitedly jot all of it down in his little leather journal, mumbling about how the gnomish sort would be thrilled to bits to get some music from the humans. And me, I sure as hell didn't offer the few songs of the Fallowmark I remembered, and they didn't want to hear the shit I'd learned in Luskan soldier camps. I'd usually just go to sleep or be off hunting with—well, the less I thought of Furface the less it hurt.

Like Gondish clockwork, those evenings had been: so predictable. Maybe that was in some ways comforting when we went into all those dark and terrifying places. And there they were now, at camp again under the stars, falling back into their old routines and ways like they'd never been apart. 'Course, none of them seemed bothered I was gone. I tried to not admit that stung, because that would mean the idiots actually had mattered—still mattered.

Brienne nudged me. "See them?" she murmured softly. The sound of the mouth harp drifted to us, an unfamiliar tune. It sounded a little like the "Attend all ye people" sort of ballad that I remembered from Redfallows Watch, but not quite.

"Yeah, so what?" I said. "Aw, paladin. You all lonely and want to join the sing-along?"

"They could have killed you," she said conversationally. "They'd have been justified, that day in the courtyard, when they saw you again at Crossroads Keep, or even this afternoon when you attacked one of their own. And yet they continue to let you live. Why do you think that is, Bishop?"

"They're a pack of fucking sadists who like seeing me suffer and need someone to look down upon." I laughed at her, shaking my head. "You think they want me there at their campfire? In_ this _place? The only reason I'm alive is because they didn't kill me here."

"What do you…"

"Oh, _follow _me," I said mockingly, turning and not even bothering to see if she'd follow. I knew she would, and I heard her soft footsteps behind me, too loud and clumsy for the footfalls that had always followed me before. Standing at the edge of the pit, I half-wished the edge would crumble and send me plunging in. It was pitch dark now, the hole just yawning dark. It could swallow me whole, the blackness and the evil wrongness of it. I'd escaped it before, left those I'd called my allies, on both sides, to die here while I ran like a hunted deer. Maybe the embrace of all that black evil wrongness was a fate I deserved, that I'd only escaped by Lianna being a softhearted idiot. I hadn't changed, not enough. I was still busy trying to kill people because they pissed me off, and the paladin had to hate me. _Had _to. Janneth's mewling and Casavir's preaching about reform, making a new life—fuck, what good was that when anyone I met would cringe at knowing who I really was?

I looked down into the abyss, and I thought it looked into me, saw the same black and evil. Another step, that would do it…no more pain, no more loss, no more being a worthless heap of bastard-born traitor trash.

I heard Brienne behind me and that broke the trance. I didn't even look at her. "Might as well hear it all," I sneered. "I broke the gates, I ran. And I joined up with Black Garius and his gang after I heard she'd turned back the undead, and all I asked was one single price. The paladin was mine to kill, the girl mine to take—or kill. Wasn't sure what way I wanted to go yet at that point." I waited for her reaction, got nothing. "So I was here when they came to call, Starfire. But I wasn't here to beg forgiveness. Little sister only saved her lover's hide by making me see that I'd sold myself to some idiot with a flaming skull for a head and a love for cheap drama—Luskan, you know. Even killing Casavir wasn't worth being that asshole's lapdog. So I told them all to go to the hells, and I left them to fight it out." I smiled coldly into the night. "Well, that even makes me a piss-poor excuse for a traitor, doesn't it? I betrayed both sides within twenty-four hours."

"You stupid shit," she finally said between her teeth, "they've let you live because they came to care about you. Lianna appealed to you that day rather than just striking you down because she hoped you'd see reason, maybe even rejoin her. And they _keep hoping_ that you'll accept them as the friends they want to be. Don't deny that your life is still bound to theirs, Bishop Rettikar. I wasn't the one who suggested the trip here today, and you knew they'd come."

"Maybe I just wanted to crash their little party."

"Or maybe you just wanted to ask them to forgive you, having proven you've changed," she guessed shrewdly. "You've done terrible things, and you realize they were evil. Why else would you try to make me hate you by telling me so?"

"Oh, but I'm a good boy now, is that it?"

"It's a long path, and no, you'll never entirely be free of what you were. But the gods see you and your struggles, and they rejoice that you've turned away from the darkness."

"What do you know about redemption, you sanctimonious little prig? Did you steal some hot pies when you got to Neverwinter or what?"

She gave me that tight smile again, coming closer to me. "I know more about darkness and redemption than you ever _dreamed _with your halfhearted efforts at treason."

"Come on, you think killing evildoers lets you _understand_ them?"

"You were a soldier in the Luskan War, you tell me?"

"Yeah, just an ordinary grunt till after it was done and Luskan lost."

"Do you remember your commander?" She was by my side now, looking out into the ruins as well.

Every now and again in my nightmares, yeah, I did. The warrior standing at our head in her new black-enameled plate, maddened like a beaten dog that had finally turned on its masters to savage them. "Aribeth de Tylmarande," I said. "Shar's blackguard."

She sucked in a quick breath, turned to face me. She said in a low voice, "_I am Aribeth_."


End file.
